


Our Way in the Dark

by pansexualnotmansexual



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Aurors, College, Deamus, Draco Malfoy Has Issues, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Eating Disorders, Extreme slow burn, HP: EWE, Harry Potter Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Muslim!Harry, Original Character(s), POC!Harry, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Slow Burn, University, University Student Harry, Vietnamese!Neville, black!Hermione, black!harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-11-16 05:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 28,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11247030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansexualnotmansexual/pseuds/pansexualnotmansexual
Summary: Following the events of the Second Wizarding War, Harry decides to enroll in auror training with several friends; however, after a year he realizes that the wizarding world is still too complicated for him and matriculates at the University of Manchester. Although soon, he encounters old rival Draco Malfoy.This work is a reworking of Someone Old, No One New, as such there are many plot differences. However, overarching story details remain the same. This is partially in Draco Malfoy's POV as well as Harry Potter's. All triggers will be announced at the beginning of a chapter or just before a particularly jarring event.Editor and beta-reader is AnarchyIII.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This title is based off lyrics from the My Chemical Romance song "Summertime."

TW: food, death m, insomnia m

           Harry gently sieved the flour into the large mixing bowl, combining it with the sugar, eggs, and butter. Teddy’s party was tomorrow, and Harry was put in charge of the food and dining. This was going to be a celebration for Teddy’s 2nd birthday. Andromeda and Harry threw a small party for his 1st, but feelings of grief and guilt had overshadowed the fun. Thus, Harry had promised himself that this birthday would be unforgettable—or at least as unforgettable for a two-year-old as possible; he had to make cakes and cookies and juice and two different dinners: some Kid Cuisine Twist and Twirl Spaghetti for Teddy (the only thing he would eat at this point) and some muggle sushi rolls for the adults.

           The invite list was rather long for a two-year-old’s birthday; Harry knew that, but it was only comprised of the people closest to Andromeda and Harry: the Weasleys, Hermione, Neville, Luna, Dean, and Seamus. He had to cook for a total of 16 people, so he wanted to begin preparing as soon as he could. He had already chosen a present for the toddler, a mini-quidditch broom much like the one that he had had before Voldemort—no, he told himself. He would not think about that right now just like he how he wouldn’t think about Lupin and Tonks lying on the floor after the Battle.

           Harry closed his eyes and took a break from his mixing. He opened them and sighed. He poured the vanilla and the rest of the ingredients into the bowl, continuing to cook.

* * *

  
           April 6th came, and Harry had yet again spent the night before stressing in his bed about Teddy and his future. Insomnia was no stranger to Harry, but he hated when it happened before an important event. At 5AM, Harry dragged himself out of bed and onto the porch for a cigarette. He smoked it quickly, still not used to the low temperature and gentle rainfall of early April. He didn’t mind the cold, but he hated smoking in the rain. He went back in for a warm shower and then dressed himself in his auror trainee uniform, basic wizarding attire topped with a trench coat and pure black robes.

           He had begun auror training in September, a three-year process which consisted of charm classes, written exams, theoretical work, and an internship in the last part of the third year. He was going through this with Ron, Dean, and Seamus. They only had a few more months left of their first year; they were all thoroughly enjoying it.

           While they trained to become aurors, pretty much everyone else in their friend group had made career plans as well. Hermione was studying Chemistry at Oxford University. Luna had brought art therapy to the wizarding world. Ginny and Neville were working alongside the Hogwarts Restoration Organization to rebuild and renovate Hogwarts. George continued his and Fred’s joke shop and brought in his girlfriend Angelina to help. Things were going back to normal—or as normal as things could be.

           Harry enjoyed auror training, he did, but he still did not feel like it was “fulfilling” him as Luna and Hermione swore good careers were supposed to. He often shrugged it off and contributed the feelings to nerves about being an adult. Since the war, Harry had moved in with Andromeda to take care of his godchild. He was not yet ready to live alone, and he certainly was not ready to care for Teddy alone. In the summer after the war and before starting auror training, Harry had spent his time mainly with press and with his friends and Andromeda. The renovations to Hogwarts meant that everyone wanted to know what the “Wizarding Savior” thought of the new school and the adjustments to sorting and if Harry wanted an “8th year” available to the young war veterans like himself and Ron and Hermione. Of course, the Death Eater trials also brought much unwanted press coverage to Harry. Would he be testifying? What did he want each of the Death Eaters’ sentences to be? Did he pity them?

  
           After the first few months of interviews and speeches and photo-ops, Harry kept his head down low. He took care of Teddy, cooked, and learned some basic French from Andromeda. It wasn’t much, but it kept him sane until training began.

           Harry’s thoughts ended as he reached the head auror office. He entered his department and headed over to his assigned physical training position alongside Ron. The ginger offered him a reassuring smile: this would be a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco

TW drugs, bars, alcohol, prison m, cigarettes, insomnia, wrists m

It was 5AM by the time Draco decided to stop trying to will himself to sleep. He rose from his mattress slowly, pretending to stretch the exhaustion away. He drudged to kitchen and lit a cigarette just before starting his coffee pot. He watched as it slowly dripped down into the pot. 

Draco sighed. He had a meeting with his probation officer today at 1PM. He groaned as he poured himself a cup of coffee: he hated those meetings. He didn’t need to meet with someone twice a month just to talk about all the dumb mistakes he’d made in his life. He could easily remember those each time he looked at his left arm. 

He shuddered and felt nausea kicking in. Draco swallowed a bit of bile and ran over to his sink quickly. While he splashed the cool water onto his sweaty face, he grabbed the bottle of Adderall on the counter next to the sink. He took a few of the pills and balanced himself on the counter. 

After trying to steady himself for a few minutes, he retrieved his coffee mug and walked over to the couch. He sat down and opened yesterday’s copy of the Manchester Evening News. This was traditional for Draco. Every night, after work, he would take a copy home just before attempting to drift asleep. In the morning, he would reread it while drinking his coffee. Ever since he was a kid, he was always interested in muggle news and history. Something forbidden like sneaking off to read a muggle publication just filled him with adrenaline. At Hogwarts, he would steal a book, magazine, or newspaper from one of the Slytherin half-bloods. Then he’d store it in his room, reading it by wand-light while everyone else slept. On occasion, he would forget he had it and accidentally bring the copy home. The house-elves would find it in his school supplies and turn it over to his father, who would promptly punish him severely. Sometimes, he’d be beaten with his father’s cane while others would involve a short-term crucio. Other times, though he would hide the books underneath a secret, loose floorboard. He relished reading that precious literature—those prizes—alone at night. He even had a few of them still. 

 

Draco jumped off the couch when his alarm clock went off at noon. He wiped the sleep off his eyes. Before he apparated away, he drank another cup of coffee and poured out food for his two cats, Halloween and Cauliflower. He kissed them goodbye, locked his door, and went to the probation office. 

He arrived at the Ministry of Magic and went straight to the floor of Probational Matters. He sat in the waiting room for roughly ten minutes before the secretary called him back into Maxeltroph Dousselsnorf’s office. The office was very industrial looking with only a desk, two chairs, and a cabinet. Dousselsnorf himself had a large frame, deeply recessed eyes, a big, bushy moustache, furrowed eyebrows, and a potbelly. His bald head would glint every so often as the ceiling light reflected off of it. Draco sighed deeply before sitting down.

“I’ll have you know that I haven’t killed anyone or offed myself yet,” Draco spat out.

Dousselsnorf snorted hard to clear collected mucus out of his throat. “Would you like for me to fill out an official report, or shall I just give you a cookie for doing the bare minimum?” He replied sarcastically. 

Draco fixated his eyes on the officer’s mole. It was located just above his right eyebrow and was by far Draco’s favorite place to stare while spacing out. He’d tried the floor, but Dousselsnorf always called him out. He’d tried the pictures on Dousselsnorf’s desk, but he was unusually secretive about his private life. He’d tried the clock, but that didn’t work because the second hand always got stuck right around the ten, so then he’d be thinking about how much time Dousselsnorf was losing and how that had to affect his productivity and—

“Mr. Malfoy,” Dousselsnorf interrupted, “Do you even care what I say to you at this point? I’ve been talking about chess for the past ten minutes. Really, I don’t mind if you don’t care or pay attention. I get paid whether or not you land back in prison.” 

“Yes.” Draco cleared his throat. “Yes, of course I care. I’m sorry… it’s just that your…your birth mark is looking rather large today.” He choked back a snicker and looked his officer in the eyes. 

“Is that so, son? Because I get the drift that you couldn’t care what else happens to you. Look,” Dousselsnorf set down his papers on the desk and stood up. He continued, “You already spent a few weeks in Azkaban. You were held in the ministry’s high-security prison for about a month. You’ve been on probation for, what, almost two years now? You won’t have to see me again after June 15th if you stop being such an arsehole. I’ve been working with you. Why won’t you work with me?” 

Draco rolled his eyes. He said, “I don’t know, Douss. Maybe I’m sick and tired of having to come to this bloody office once every week. Maybe I’m sick and tired of having my wand checked every week. Maybe I’m sick of having my home checked for dark magical contraband once a month. Maybe I’m tired of being painted as the villain!”

Dousselsnorf interrupted the blond, “Really? The villain? Your father got 20 years in Azkaban. Your mother was fined for everything your family owned and exiled. Yaxley received 30 years to life in Azkaban, as did many of the other Death Eaters! Once you accept that you got off easy, you’ll start to accept that life doesn’t just have it in for you. Ever heard of karma? If you stop acting like an arse, life’ll stop treating you like one. Now, can we get back to our meeting?”

“Yes, sir,” Draco replied. 

“Have you had any contact with any Death Eaters or criminals not on your approved list?”

“No, sir.”

“Have you performed any dark or deadly or otherwise prohibited spells?”

“No, sir.” 

“Have you had any non-approved magical contraband on your person?”

“No, sir.”

“Have you dabbled in any wizarding drugs, such as Magic Dust, Flying Dragon, or Busty Boo?”

“No, sir. Wait, ‘Busty Boo’? You’ve got to pulling my leg here. There’s no drug named that!”

“Yes, I know. I just wanted to hear you say, ‘Busty Boo,’” the officer admitted with a smirk playing at his mouth. He cleared his throat and continued.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By 3PM, Draco actually felt excited to get back to the Black Cauldron. He had been working at the muggle pub for a few months. It was something set up by his neighbor Sally. She resided across the hall from him with her partner Fabienne, who they called “Fab.” He usually worked from eleven at night to five in the morning, but tonight he was working three-thirty to eleven. It was impossible for him to find a job in the wizarding world, and it was rather difficult to find a job in the muggle world with no experience, minimal education, and a criminal record (it merely showed as “political conspiracy”). Draco and Fab were bartenders while Sally worked the kitchen. It was honest work, and it was all Draco had.

Draco dressed himself in one of the ministry’s bathrooms. His uniform, neat jeans and a black polo shirt, smelled a bit weird as it usually did, mimicking the booze and shitty cheese fries of the bar. Although at first it reminded him of his shitty life and horrible decision, the smell was welcoming to him now. Once dressed, he apparated into the employee bathroom of the Black Cauldron. It more so resembled a broom closet; people rarely entered it unless it was opening or closing time. Draco rarely worked the opening shift, noon to eight at night, but he kept track of who was working if he’d needed to apparate. 

As he stepped out of the closet, the shift manager, Jerry, walked by.

“Draco!” he exclaimed, “You’re early. I love that about you. Listen, it’s 3:15, and my kid has a doctor’s appointment at 4. You don’t mind taking over the bar and register for me, do you?”

“Um, no,” Draco answered. “But, where’s Darren? Isn’t he supposed to be working the bar with me this evening?”

“Yeah, but Darren’s a little sick today, so he called out.”

“You better tell Darren to stay away from that meth.”

“’Ey, he’s a good worker,” Jerry said, handing Draco his name tag.

“Okay. Alright. Have a good night, Jerry.”

“’Ey, you too, Drake.”

“Draco,” the blond corrected.

“That’s what I said, Drake. Good night, everyone!” Jerry yelled out to the crew.

Draco let out an exasperated sigh. This would be a long day.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry  
TW exercise, food, anti-semitism m

A few days had passed, and it was now Monday, April 10th. Harry had woken up at 5:30AM to go to the gym at 6 like he did every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. The auror trainees usually spent Mondays doing written work and having class time. The lack of movement bored Harry, so he decided that he’d needed a regular gym routine. Coffee in hand, Harry strolled to the gym. He ran and lifted weights until it was time to shower and go to work.

It was fifteen ‘til nine when Harry arrived at the Ministry. He sulked around the front entrance of the Auror Training Area for a few more minutes. He could not stress how much he hated Mondays. It was always class for three hours, lunch, class, a small break, and some sort of “practical” activity or exercise. The class line-up was almost always the same: ninety minutes of Dark Charm and Spell Disarmament and another ninety minutes of Stealth and Tracking. They would have lunch, and at 12:45, they would have forty-five minutes of an intense theory class. Usually it was Poison and Potions, but sometimes it was something more boring like Ancient Runes and Other Old Wizard Languages or Anti-Deadly Disease Wards. Harry disliked theory, but he considered it to be worth the end-of-day activity. He absolutely hated sitting still at a desk learning about the differences between the Polio Hex and the Spattergroit Spell. He needed to experience what he was learning to retain any information.

Ron’s arrival shook Harry out of his thoughts.

“Hey, mate,” Ron said. “Dazed out again?” The ginger looked exhausted with small black bags under his eyes.

“Yeah. You alright?” Harry replied.

“I’m fine,” Ron responded. “I was talking with Hermione a lot last night. She called me pretty late after she got out of lab.”

“Why does she keep calling you? Can’t she just take the floo here?”

“Yeah, but she wants to stay in her residence or whatever. She says she wants the ‘university experience’ and that using magic to go back to the wizarding world when she should be at a Muggle uni isn’t very ‘uni-like.’”

“’Uni-like’? Is that even a real term?”

“I think she’s trying to get back into muggle slang or whatever. I have no clue. You know how Hermione is at times,” Ron admitted.

Harry smirked. He really missed Hermione. Ron and Harry started walking towards their classroom. 

Ron spoke up, “I just don’t want to wait until those stupid breaks to see Hermione again. That university thing is so bloody dumb. Why go to a muggle university when you have all this experience and ability in the wizarding world?”

“Personal interests? Other opportunities? Soul searching?” Harry snorted after that last addition. They took their respective seats next to one-another. They pulled out their ministry-issued Dark Charms and Spell Disarmament textbooks and turned their eyes to the professor, an ex-entrepreneur who was obsessed with ancient Greek gods. Despite her apparent grace and maturity, she was hideously ugly; she was covered with warts and scars—her face marred by dark spots and saggy, unsavory skin. Harry rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Oi, mate. Are you gonna eat that?” Ron asked, pointing to Harry’s broccoli chicken casserole. 

“Do you know how long it took me to make this?” Harry said.

“Longer than it’ll take me to eat it,” Ron replied. Harry rolled his eyes and scooted the bowl over to Ron. He watched as Ron took his first bite. He smirked as Ron immediately spat the bite out. “What the—? Spinach, mate? Who the bloody hell makes something with spinach and broccoli in it? Isn’t that, like, breaking thirty cooking rules?”

“Not if it means I actually get to eat the food that I make. Besides, I don’t mind spinach and broccoli.”

“Wha—? Harry! That’s just cruel. How am I supposed to have a partner that doesn’t even look after my well-being?”

“Aw, well, I’m sorry. Maybe you should ask Kinglsey for a new one. Someone like…” Harry paused to look around the room. He grinned as he found someone. “Aronowitz. I bet he’d be a perfect partner for you.”

“Really?” Ron said, slamming his fork down. “Aronowitz? You know he doesn’t allow any pork around him! It’s not halal or gluten free or whatever. I can’t work with someone who doesn’t like bacon!”

“Kosher, mate,” Harry responded. “The Jewish term is kosher, and making fun of it makes you a bit anti-Semitic. And really, with a Muslim friend, you should really know what ‘halal’ means.”

“How am I supposed to know? Religion is different in the wizarding world. ‘Sides, you’re not even Muslim. Your family was just Muslim.”

“I may not practice a certain religion, but having a ‘pure-blooded’ relative from Kenya is supposed to be really important. I only wish I knew more about my heritage,” Harry said, swallowing some broccoli. 

“Right, right. I’m sorry. That stuff is sensitive to Muggles, isn’t it?”

“Yep.” Harry flicked his eyebrows up and back down to their resting position. He continued, “What do you think our class is going to be on after this?”

“Anything but bloody Alchemy. I didn’t care for the subject at Hogwarts! Why would I care for it now?” Ron stabbed his fork into his kidney pie.

“I just can’t wait for this year to be over with so we can finally learn something relatively interesting. I mean, I guess our “practical” lessons are fun, but I want something with more action.”

“Really, mate?” Ron’s jaw dropped slightly. He whispered, “I hear that it only gets worse from here on out. I was told that the second year is always dedicated to learning how to properly fill out paperwork and reports and that the third year’s internships aren’t nearly as interesting as they sound. We’re supposed to work from 8 to 6 on some bloody, boring internship. Every. Single. Day.” He banged his head against the table.

“At least we want to do this,” Harry pointed out. “Some of the older wizards here only do this for the money or the ‘fame.’ Why would someone want to be famous from an auror career?”

“I dunno. I just don’t want to do Alchemy today.” 

Harry and Ron finished their lunches just in time for their next lesson. Once everyone arrived in the classroom, Professor Thompson wrote their subject on the board in utter silence. All the trainees groaned loudly once they saw “Advanced Charm Theory” written in thick, white chalk.   
\----------------------------------------

 

“Bloody hell!” Ron yelled loudly. He had been scrubbing at his face for over thirty minutes, and he still could not take off the greenish-brown paint from his face. Their activity for the day was Concealment and Disguise. While many others decided to make themselves invisible through charms or potions, Harry and Ron stuck to a more natural approach.

“Ron,” Harry interrupted, grabbing the ginger’s arms. “It’s almost four in the evening. I think you should just forget about it.”

Ron scowled. He replied, “How come I let you convince me to paint this on my face, anyways? Why couldn’t you just charm it on? And why didn’t you put any paint on your face, huh?!”

“Because I’m already brown, mate.” Harry giggled a bit at the sight of Ron’s face. “Wait, I think you’re getting some of the red back in it!”

Ron threw the towel at Harry’s face.

“Forget it!” he screamed. “I wish Hermione were at least here to help. She wouldn’t be laughing at me.”

“Ron, you know she’d be laughing her arse off.”

“Yeah, but not in front of me.” Ron pouted.

“C’mon, mate. Let’s get you home.”

Harry walked Ron to the floo chimney and waited a few minutes to travel to his own home.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco

TW bars, alcohol, food, drugs, pills, cigarettes

It was Friday, and of course Draco was closing again. He didn’t quite mind that much since Sally and Fab were closing with him: 11PM-5AM. It was one of those nights where no manager would be on the premises, so the bartenders on duty would usually conduct the more difficult closing duties. Draco had lasted until slightly past midnight without drinking that night, but he so desperately needed a shot when one customer yelled for a solid ten minutes at all the staff because his cheese fries hadn’t been prepared in under five minutes. 

Draco was already on his second shot and third beer, and holy shit, the pub was busy. He and his coworkers had not had time for a simple bathroom break since the cheese fry incident. He checked his watch again and groaned when he saw the hour hand slowly ebb just past the “2.” He made another few margaritas and rejoiced for the end of Happy Hour. Leaning against the counter, he watched as Fab took orders of cheese fries and beer. He was so grateful for her and Sally. 

One year and three months ago, Draco moved to his apartment complex. He had almost nothing except for enough money for two months’ rent, his wand, and the clothes and several pill bottles that fit into a small backpack he bought from ASDA. After signing the contract and receiving his key, he treaded up the stairs to the second floor. His apartment was 2B, and it looked and smelled like tweakers had lived there the past few months. 

He walked in, closed and locked the door, and checked the place out. It was completely unfurnished except for the bar stools in the kitchen. After observing the small place that he would call home, he converted the area in the living room connected to the bathroom by a door frame with a broken door into a chimney for the floo network. His parole required that he be connected to it. 

Draco set his backpack down and walked into his so-called bedroom. With no mattress, pillow, nor blanket, he lay down on the itchy carpet. Draco didn’t remember much after that, but he did remember being awaken at some time in the afternoon by an extremely loud bulldozer and construction crew. He sat up and wiped his face. After realizing where he was, he took a few pills and lit up a cigarette. 

He jumped at the loud knock on his door. He walked to it briskly and opened it to a very skinny, very angry-looking dark man. He scrunched up his face and sneered in confusion when the man began yelling at him in Spanish.

“Soy su vecino. Si le gustaría vivir aquí, NO puede hacer mucho ruido o dejar la basura o—“

He was cut off by a short Indian girl with half-shaved dark brown hair, skinny jeans, a blue hoodie, and purple socks, “¡Ay! Gonzalo, cállese. Nadie quiere escucharle. ¡Déjelo ahora, por favor!” The man, Gonzalo, groaned and threw up his arms before moving back inside the apartment next to Draco’s.

“Thank you,” the blond said. 

She replied, “No problem. He doesn’t mean harm; he’s just grumpy and hates it when things are out of order. He and his wife moved here from the Dominican Republic in the ‘70s. She died a few years ago, so he’s, y’know, been alone…”

“Oh. Do you uh…” he cleared his throat, “do you speak Spanish?”

“Oh, no. My, uh, roommate taught me. She’s Haitian, but she knows a few languages. My name’s Sally, by the way.” Draco offered his hand.

“I’m Draco. Draco Malfoy.” 

She was slightly taken aback, but accepted his hand and said, “I’m Sally Gala. How are you liking your apartment?”

“It’s…. all right.” Draco hesitated. “I haven’t really been here a while.”

“I understand. Well, Draco, if you need anything, I’m right across the hall, okay?”

 

Draco often remembered that moment. He didn’t get the job or meet Fab for another month, but they occasionally spoke and banded against Gonzalo. 

“Oi, Draco! Two Pimms and Lemonade. And cut that spacey thing out; we’re still busy,” Sally announced to him. He glanced at her a few times while he made the drinks. Her hair was loose, and her bright pink bangs covered her left eye. A bead of sweat was making its way down her forehead as she took orders, handed out beers, and collected bills. He went back to concentrating on the drink orders.

“3:30—time to close!” Sally informed Draco while grinning. 

“Who’s announcing it tonight?” He asked.

“Rock, paper, scissors?”

Draco bit his lip and held out his fist. Sally glared at him and held out hers.

“One,” She said.

“Two,” Draco said.

“Three,” they said together, “Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” Sally laughed as she looked at Draco’s continued fist.

She asked, “Why do you always do rock even though you know you’re gonna lose? You’re so predictable!”

He groaned and replied, “Fine. Whatever. I’ll switch next time.” Sally smirked, and Draco stood on top of a bar stool behind the counter. He announced, “Everyone! Attention, everyone! We are officially closing tonight; everyone needs to have their bills paid and be out of here in fifteen minutes!” He got down from the stool and turned to Sally. In a hushed voice, he said, “Great. Now I’m everyone’s least favorite bartender.” 

“Stop fucking throwing the rock, and you won’t have to do this every night.” She smiled and punched his arm in a playful way. 

Draco grabbed some cleaning supplies and made his way out to the main lobby. He smiled to himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t mind playing rock every night, but he just didn’t understand the game. It was Sally who taught it to him (his excuse for not knowing was that he had went to French boarding schools his entire life where the game simply didn’t exist), and it was also Sally who swore that it was a logic game. “Something has to beat something else and in turn be beaten by something else,” She would claim. Yet, that didn’t make sense to him because there is no way that paper could annihilate rock. It just wasn’t possible! He continued to think about the game and Sally while he wiped down tables and swept for the next hour and a half. 

At 5AM, Draco, Sally, and Fab were extremely tired and more than ready to leave. Draco had had another shot to steady himself out around 4:30—one of the only benefits of this job was the (limited) free drinks. He and the girls walked home. He could see Sally watching him out of the corner of her eye; she was concerned and watching for signs of inebriety. He had previously tried to inform her that he rarely felt alcohol until he’d had at least 5 shots and a few other drinks. That only seemed to worry her more, so he dropped it. 

Fab spoke up, “Do you all think that we’re going to be closing every night for the rest of our lives?”

Sally brushed her fingers through her girlfriend’s afro and smiled sadly. “I personally hope that we’re not going to spend the rest of our lives in bloody Moss Side. I don’t know about you two, but I have different goals.” Draco shrugged. It was a shitty life, true. He hadn’t even had a mattress to sleep on for months, true. And the apartment complex had a new infestation of bed bugs in it every year, also true. Yet he still liked it there: it had its own personality, and he’d finally grown to calling it “home.” He cleared his throat.

“Yeah,” he said. They all had yet to talk about their families or childhoods in great detail, so he wasn’t going to mention that he somehow enjoyed a mattress on the floor more than a grand bed with silk sheets and a million pillows. Maybe it was the mentality behind it, he silently argued.

“How many did we serve tonight?” Fab asked.

“130,” Sally replied. Fab and Draco groaned.

“Is that even bloody normal for a mug—” he stopped himself. He continued, “mucky pub like ours.”

“It was a Friday, and there was some sort of football game on the telly. It brings our ‘best’ customers out.” Sally said. Draco did not understand these muggles. What was the point of having a ball game where you couldn’t touch the ball with your hands? More leg-related injuries? Dirty uniforms?

The three of them grew quiet as they reached their apartment complex. Noise was something that bothered Gonzalo more than anything, especially after 9PM and before 7AM. They said their goodbyes and went in their respective doors. Draco went to the kitchen to grab a few Triscuit crackers and an Ambien. He set his alarm to 3PM and lay down on the mattress. He had work that night at 11PM.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry  
TW school m, food, nightmares, panic attacks, death m, murder m, crying, cigarettes

_Another week, another Monday,_ Harry thought on his way back from auror training. He took the floo from the Auror Department to Gringott’s and exchanged some of his galleons for a few pound sterlings. After that, he apparated to Muggle Manchester. On his way to one of the Archie’s Burgers, he passed by the University of Manchester and its tall brick buildings. He stared at them, noting how they loomed over the city in a strange, omniscient way. He stopped staring.

Harry ordered two Sweet Alabama burgers, an Average Joe burger, and three Oreolicious milkshakes. He knew that Andromeda would not be happy with him buying a two-year-old fast food, but he was already prepared to offer to eat Teddy’s portion. Harry smiled as he stepped behind the restaurant and apparated back to his home.

“Oh, Harry, you shouldn’t have!” Andromeda exclaimed happily. She looked at the pink bag and said, “Really? I know that you didn’t go all the way to Manchester for Archie’s Burgers again!”

Harry smiled to himself. He replied, “You know it’s my favorite! So, where’s Teddy? _Je voudrais voire le petit homme._ [I’d like to see the little man.]”

“ _Il fait la sieste_. [He’s napping.]”

“ _Encore? C’est la deuxième fois aujourd’hui._ [Again? That’s the second time today.]”

“ _Oui, mais il était sommeil._ [Yes, but he was sleepy.] By the way, your French is getting better. Have you been practicing?”

Harry snorted, “No. Not even a little bit. I was just thinking about it on my way to Archie’s.” He got the food out of the bag and continued, “Do you really think I’m getting better?”

“Well…” Andromeda stopped talking, and she smiled a little guiltily. “Yes. For someone who is only learning it very casually and slowly, yes. I do think that you’d do well if you learned it professionally, though.”

Harry took a bite of his burger. “Maybe,” He swallowed and replied, “but I doubt I’ll have much time. We do have auror exams in June, and I hear that next year is going to be very difficult. I’ll consider it.”

Andromeda smiled in response. She pulled the rest of the food out and put their milkshakes in their magicked freezer. When Harry moved in, it seemed that they had silently agreed to have a mixture of muggle appliances and wizard technology. Andromeda shook her head when she pulled out the third burger.

“Harry…” Andromeda commented, “Would you like to tell me how a two-year-old is going to eat this?”

“Well,” Harry began, “I figured that we should let him taste it so that his taste buds are well-developed and then someone…” He pointed to himself and continued, “could maybe have the rest.”

“Of course.” She smiled and started eating her burger. “ _Est-ce que tu veux l’éveiller?_ [Do you want to wake him up?]”

“ _Quoi?_ [What?]” He said, confused.

“’ _Eveiller_ ’ is ‘to awaken.’ Do you want to wake him up?”

“Oh. Well, I don’t know. How long has he been sleeping?”

“Roughly an hour.”

“Yeah, I’ll get him.” Harry stood up and started walking. He made his way up the stairs and into Teddy’s room. He went over to Teddy’s bed and crouched by it. For a second, he just simply observed the toddler and his steady breaths. Harry smiled to himself, unable to believe that someone this innocent and angelic could exist. He shook Teddy’s arm slightly.

The toddler awoke with a loud sound and looked around in confusion.

“Hey, bud,” Harry said, scooping the toddler into his arms. “I’m gonna change your diaper, and then we’re gonna eat. Is that okay?” Teddy simply nodded and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

After Teddy was changed, they went downstairs to eat. Teddy ended up only eating a few bites of the hamburger and some reheated leftovers. He told Andromeda and Harry all about his recent dream: ice cream monsters taking over the neighborhood. He was somehow still excited when Andromeda brought out the milkshakes. Harry and Andromeda ate their respective milkshakes and shared Teddy’s after he had had a few bites. They played with Teddy for a few more hours before they all went to bed.

* * *

 

Harry was running. He was being chased, and he knew that he would be killed if caught. He quickly hid behind a tree to take in his surroundings. It was a dark, foggy forest, and a weird, blue-ish gray tinge had set over the atmosphere. He drew several deep breaths and reached for his wand. It wasn’t in his back pocket. He checked his other pockets and his waistband and the ground, and he just couldn’t find it. He began to hyperventilate. He ran again—this time not knowing how he would get away or where he would even go. Harry heard the same cold, sinister laugh as he had heard the 2nd of May however many years ago. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. He started screaming.

Harry awoke quickly. He was sweating profusely and crying. He stood up and checked the time. His clock read 3:04AM. He sat down on his bed and played with his hair a little, twisting the curls between his thumb and index finger.

It had been a while since he had had a nightmare this vivid and this long. He sighed deeply and stood up. He made his way to the kitchen. After starting the coffee pot, he went outside for a smoke. He had smoked about three cigarettes before he calmed down enough to enter the house again. His cup of black coffee went with him as he went outside for a final smoke before showering.

Harry didn’t think that he could stomach anything this morning, so he skipped breakfast. His heart had yet to completely regulate its beats and to get out of the fight-or-flight mentality. He felt like such an idiot having to skip breakfast because he had a little nightmare. His therapist told him repeatedly that nightmares were common with PTSD, but Harry still wasn’t completely sure. He showered and dressed, attempting to excite himself that today was Tuesday, a practical day. Although he normally enjoyed the spell battles and physical activities, he didn’t know how he could handle it. He still felt like an idiot. This is just a bad day, he reminded himself. Harry grabbed a cereal bar from the pantry and swallowed his anxiety.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco

TW families/parents/mothers/fathers, prison, food, starvation, depression, alcohol, drugs/pills, self harm/cutting, anorexia/eating disorders

 

           This particular Wednesday was Draco’s first day off in many, many days. He had planned to stay up rather late with a bottle of Firewhisky, listening to music on the new CD player he bought himself. He had done so that night; however, he was awoken by a loud knocking at his window shortly before 8AM. When he rose from his bed, he realized that it was a postage owl pecking. The owl had three letters in its beak, and they were all from one person: Narcissa Malfoy.

 

           Draco sighed deeply, frustrated with his mother’s impatience and stubbornness. She had been sending him at least two letters a week since Christmas. He had cut off contact with her after they visited his father in Azkaban. Azkaban wasn’t the same as the last time he saw it—back when the war was still going on. There were hardly any dementors left, but the prisoners were still kept in nearly solitary cells. The only time they saw people that weren’t in the cell directly across from theirs was during cell checks, meal times, and visiting.

 

           Lucius had hardly spoken during the Christmas visit, which was strange in comparison to their usual monthly visits. He would normally bicker at Draco, berating him for his hair or clothes or uninterested demeanor. The last time, however, he simply sat there. His hair was falling out, and the guards had told them that that was due to lack of sunlight and food. Many of the prisoners were so depressed or anxious that they were refusing to eat or speak, and it appeared that Draco’s father had followed the same route. The time between early November and Christmas didn’t seem that long, so Draco was at first confused at what seemed to be his father’s abrupt behavior change. Yet Draco had spent the past several months thinking about it, and he _did_ remember his father’s behavior changing slowly.

 

            He sighed again as he went to untie the letters from the bird’s claws. It pecked him when he removed the letters from its mouth.

 

           “Ouch! You stupid, bloody bird. Get out of here! Go on! Fuck off!” Draco screamed at it. He glanced at his finger and threw the mail in the garbage. _No_ , he reminded himself, _you are not going to read it. You have gone an entire week without reading her mail, and you’re not going to fuck up that progress_.

 

            He poured himself a shot of firewhisky to chase some Adderall. It went down easily and without protest. His throat hardly ever burned anymore from doing this. He got himself a glass of water and an apple. Sitting on the couch to read his newspaper, he quickly finished his makeshift newspaper. It took him roughly ten minutes to skim the paper. He stood up to take a shower, dusting the apple remnants off of his pants, couch, and table. Once he was inside the bathroom, Draco undressed slowly. His entire body began to hurt as if he had fallen and rolled around on glass. He wiggled his fingers on his left hand and checked his wrist. The scratches, cuts, and burns on it were puffy and red—they were more than likely infected. He ignored the rest of his body and stepped into the shower, turning the water on.

 

            The cold water at first calmed him, but it only took a minute or two for him to realize that the hot water heater had broken again. Being a shitty building, it was often that the residents would have to rely on cold water if _anything_ happened to the heater. Sometimes this meant that there wouldn’t be hot water for a few days if too many people had used hot water at one time. Draco didn’t think he’d ever be able to understand muggles. Sally told him that people had individual hot water heaters most of the time; she said she wasn’t sure why this building had all of them connected. She didn’t ask him why he didn’t know what a hot water heater was. She never asked him about his life before Moss Side; he never asked her about hers.

 

            The dizziness and low blood sugar hit Draco when he stepped out of the shower. He performed a few minor healing charms on his arms and thighs; consequently, he made himself dizzier as a cleaning alcohol-like smell came over him. He faltered towards the kitchen. He grabbed a piece of bread to munch on as he cracked an egg into the skillet on the stove. Draco tried not to keep much food in the house, but he was sure to always have fruit, bread, and eggs in case something like this happened. He didn’t like to eat much, for the uppers he took decreased his appetite most of the time. He ate the egg—sunny side up—slowly and with certainty. If he ate it slowly enough, he wouldn’t be too hungry afterwards. As he swallowed the last bits of the egg, he thought back to his father—sitting in Azkaban, his long, white-blond hair gradually falling out. Draco was going to buy some brown hair dye today.

 

 

* * *

 

            Sally and Fab sat beside Draco on the park bench. They tossed out bird seed to the pigeons and watched as the birds flocked towards the food. The three of them only started hanging out once Draco found out Sally and Fab were a couple. He understood why they’d been so secretive about it. It hurt him slightly that they didn’t consider him a “safe” person, but it also filled him with a sense of sick joy. He could still appear straight to other people. After all, everyone he’d told so far had been utterly shocked.

 

            “Draco,” Sally called, attempting to get his attention. “Are you in space? What’s Mars like?”

           

            Draco cleared his throat and let out a small smile. He replied, “Actually, I was on Neptune. I wanted to see how long a human could last in a gaseous environment.”

 

            “You’re such a weirdo,” Fab stated. They all laughed. “So, am I doing your hair before work tonight?”

 

            “If you’d like. Do you think Jerry will be annoying about it?”

           

            “Jerry _? Annoying?_ ” Sally said, the sarcasm playing in her voice. “Noooo. Jerry would _never_ be annoying about _anything_. He especially wouldn’t be annoying about the twink, who always closes, dyeing his hair a new color.”

           

            “What the fuck is a twink?” Draco asked. Sally and Fab burst out in laughter. “No, seriously,” he continued, “Is this some kind of gay culture thing I never know about?” The girls kept laughing, and Draco could see a few tears form in Fab’s eyes. He scowled.

           

            “Oh, _no_. Draco. It’s actually…um…it’s a term of endearment,” Sally said. Draco’s scowl worsened, only causing Fab to laugh harder and louder. Some people in the park began to stare at them. Draco rolled his eyes.

           

            “You’ve dyed hair before, right? I don’t have to worry about going bald?” Draco asked, skeptical.

 

            “Yes, my dear Draco. I can do hair. I’m rather good at it. Last year, I did my own dreads.” Fab informed him, wiping the tears from her eyes.

 

            “My hair is a little different than yours and Sally’s though.”

           

            “I’ve done white twink hair, don’t worry.” Draco rolled his eyes again, earning another giggle from Fab.

           

            “Seriously, what in the bloody hell is a twink?” He asked again.

 

            The girls laughed even harder, and Sally asked through her humorous tears, “Draco, what the bloody hell are you?”

           

            Draco paused. He felt a deep fear in his heart. He swallowed his anxiety and put on a fake smile. “Whatever do you mean?” he replied. _She knows I’m a wizard. They know I’m a wizard. They know I’m a wizard. They know I’m a Death Eater. They know I was a Death Eater. Oh Merl-_

 

            “You’re like some kind of royalty, aren’t you?” She laughed even harder, as if she found her questions to be ridiculous. “You don’t understand slang. You can’t clean. You don’t understand basic household appliances. And your name is _Draco_! We’re friends with a bloody foreign prince, aren’t we?”

 

            He started to laugh awkwardly. “Oh,” he said, “Oh, yeah. I’m a French noble, don’t you know?” Fab and Sally started snorting with laughter. Others in the park just stared at them even harder.

 

           “We should…we should go before they call the bloody authorities,” Fab declared. She dabbed under her eyes with a tissue, careful not to wipe away her eyeliner and mascara. The three of them stood up and left the park.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry

TW insomnia, drugs, therapy/doctors, food, panic attacks

           Harry hadn’t slept in three days. The Battle of Hogwarts Second Anniversary was a week ago, and he was still just as depressed as he was last Tuesday. He checked his clock again. Only five minutes had passed since the last time he checked his clock, making it 3:06AM. He pulled at his hair, frustrated that he just could not be normal no matter how hard he’d tried.

 

            His therapist warned him that he shouldn’t focus on being “normal:” he should strive to be more optimistic about the “good days.” Harry normally saw Dr. Shelly once or twice a month, but they set up an emergency session on the 3rd. She told him that they would wait a little longer to formally diagnose him with PTSD because wizard psychiatrists typically did not like to diagnose children—“Young adults,” Dr. Shelly would correct him—with mental disorders.

 

            He groaned and looked at the clock again. Not even three minutes had passed. There was no way he could go to training like this. When he went yesterday, he had confused the Ebublio Jinks with the Biting Jinks, accidentally causing Ron’s textbook to latch onto his arm. It took ten minutes for the professor to calm Ron down enough to get the book off. Harry didn’t want that to happen again, but he had also missed the 1st and the 3rd. He didn’t want to get too far behind.

           

            He decided to at least take some more of his Dreamless Sleep Potion. Even if he couldn’t fix his brain, he’d still be able to have his other internal organs function. He took double the recommended dosage, turned off his alarm, and attempted to sleep again.

 

* * *

 

 

            Harry awoke to Teddy jumping on top of his bed. His tiny feet would occasionally hit Harry in the legs. Harry just lay there—his brain still not working enough to make him get up. It took another minute or two for Teddy’s jumps to travel up his legs, forcing Harry to jump up and cover his groin when the toddler’s left foot almost landed there.

 

            “Hawwy!” Teddy exclaimed, “You awake!”

 

            “Yup, yup. Uncle Harry is awake,” Harry groggily said. He rubbed his head and put his glasses on. “C’mon, little man. _Allons-y dire ‘bonjour’ à ta tante._ [Let’s go say ‘hi’ to your aunt.]” He picked Teddy up and walked downstairs to the kitchen where Andromeda was reading the mail.

 

            “Oh, Harry! I’m so sorry about Teddy. I told him to leave you alone. I guess he got bored while I was checking the mail,” Andromeda said, frowning.

 

            “That’s fine,” Harry replied. “You know how he gets after an hour or two of being awake.” Andromeda’s frown deepened, and Harry realized that it was not Teddy that was the reason for her frowning: it was Harry. “What’s wrong, Andromeda?”

 

            “Nothing. I just…. Are you all right, Harry?” She asked.

 

            “Yeah, why?”

 

            “Well, it’s 5PM.”

           

            “It’s **_what?!_** ” Harry exclaimed in disbelief. He checked the clock in the kitchen. “How? I know I didn’t sleep for 14 hours!”

 

            “You didn’t get to sleep until 3?” Her worry grew.

 

            “Well, no. I just, um,…” Harry paused, trying to think of something. “I was too busy studying for exams, y’know. I was pulling an all-nighter, and I decided that I’d take a nap. Then I woke up at 6, and I realized that I should probably just go to school tomorrow. To training, I mean. Not school. It’s…it’s not school.”

 

           Andromeda maintained her frown. She looked like she didn’t believe Harry at all, and that was fair. Harry was a shite liar when it came to her. Nevertheless, she replied, “All right. Well, don’t overwork yourself. You can only do so many all-nighters before your work suffers. I have you some food prepared in the fridge.”

 

           Harry grabbed the Tupperware containers filled with spaghetti and salad. He decided to sit in the living room and desperately hoped that Teddy would not want to play today. Harry was developing a horrible headache, and with everything that was going on, he didn’t want the toddler to see him breakdown.

 

           It only seemed like he had been in the living room for a few minutes when he began to feel Andromeda shaking him and hear her calling his name.

 

           “Harry! Harry! Harry, Harry, c’mon. Harry!” She got louder with every word.

 

           Harry’s brain finally made the connection, and he looked at her. “Huh?” he said.

 

           “Didn’t you hear me? I’ve been trying to get your attention for several minutes now!” Andromeda said, her voice bordering on confusion and concern.

 

           “Um, what? Yeah. Sorry. I was just distracted.”

 

           “You were staring at the floor. You’ve barely even touched your food. It’s nearly 9PM, Harry. Are you okay?”

 

           “Yeah,” he said. Her words confused him a lot. He hadn’t dissociated since the Halloween after the war. God, he was so confused.

 

           She didn’t look convinced. “Look, I want you to finish that, then get some rest. Okay?”

 

           “Okay. Yeah. That’s fine. G’night, Andy,” he responded. He hugged her and sat back down to eat his spaghetti.

 

           After finishing all of his food, he went upstairs to his bedroom. _I am not dealing with this bullshit tonight_ , he thought, _I bloody_ will _sleep_. He got his Dreamless Sleep Potion and took his normal double dosage. He took it again. He _would_ sleep tonight, damn it.

* * *

 

 

           

            Harry felt like he was floating. He was floating down Oxford Road; he had to be. Wait, was he floating? Harry was so confused. Why was he so confused? Was he dreaming? _Yeah_ , he decided, _I’m totally dreaming. Like, lucid, even._ He was even more confused. Was he floating? He looked down. He was on his broom! _Well, that solves that_ , he thought.

 

            He came to a stop just next to the Kilburn Building, the school of Computer Science. He giggled to himself. Why would a wizard need to learn computer science? And why was his mouth so dry? He got off his broom and decided that the former question was more important. He started walking down the street. _Where am I?_ , he thought. _Oh, yeah._ He stopped in front of the Williamson Building. _This must be the science place_.

 

            “All right, Harry,” he said aloud, “What’re we gonna do now? Well, I think we should wake up and stop dreaming. Good idea. But how?” He stopped talking to himself and got back on his broom.

 

            He got back home shortly after and went in through the kitchen. He glanced at the clock. It was about 4AM. Harry shook his head: the clicking second hand was giving him a headache.

 

            “Wait, _what?!_ ” he exclaimed. He looked around and lowered his voice, “Clocks aren’t supposed to change in dreams. They’re supposed to…well, they’re supposed to be weird! Am I not fucking dreaming? What is going on?”

 

            He rubbed his face. It was extremely cold due to his broom ride. He poured himself a glass of water and drank it all down. He poured another glass and another one. His mouth was not any closer to not being dry, and he wasn’t any closer to not being high. How was he supposed to go to training today? He couldn’t show up like this!

 

            Yet, he couldn’t stay home, either. Andromeda was worried about him, and this wouldn’t help his case. He knew what he had to do. He went upstairs, took a shower, and got dressed. He made himself some eggs and coffee. He ate slowly and then went outside to smoke. He went back inside and grabbed his invisibility cloak so that he could apparate to Diagon Alley in peace. He just had to be sure to come back around 4.

 

 

* * *

 

            Everything went fine that day—or as fine as it could be in the state he was in. He sat and people-watched for a few hours, he got something to eat, and he walked around for a bit. He got home at 4, made dinner, socialized with Andromeda, and played with Teddy. He didn’t even take any Dreamless Sleep. He wasn’t sure that he ever wanted to touch it again.

           

            Harry woke up 6AM so he could get ready for training that day. He had only slept a few hours, and he had a killer headache, but he was as well rested as he had been since the war. He took a long, hot shower and dressed quickly. He downed a few cups of black coffee and a bowl of cereal. He apparated to the Department around 7:30 and walked into his classroom around 7:50. Ron greeted him.

 

            “Hey, mate. You doing okay?” the ginger asked.

 

            “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I just needed a few days off. You?”

 

            “I’m good. You ready for today?”

 

            “Yeah?” Harry replied in a questioning tone. “Why? Isn’t it a normal Thursday?”

 

            “No,” Ron said quizzically. “It’s Obstacle Course Day. Y’know, the day we’ve been waiting for ever since we signed up for training. You haven’t been here for our preparation and review days. Are you sure you’re ready?”

           

            Harry shook his stupor and said, “Ron, I fought Voldemort, and remember the Triwizard Tournament? I think I’ll be okay.”

 

            They stepped into the classroom and got into two lines. The professor read the rules and the partners. There would be 10 challenges, ranging from easy to difficult in ascending order. The first challenge would be warding off an Expelliarmus. There would be a few minor jinxes and curses mixed in with some other obstacles which would change with each set of partners. The course would end in a somewhat lethal challenge. The winner would go onto the next round, and eventually there would be two champions. The professor read the partners out in chronological order. Harry and Ron would compete against each other as the third group.

 

            The trainees watched as the first group went through. It took Dean ten minutes to defeat the course, and Seamus defeated it roughly two minutes after Dean. The next group took about twenty minutes, as neither had successfully warded off the Expelliarmus at the beginning.

 

            Ron and Harry were up next. Ron grabbed Harry’s arm and whispered in his ear, “If we blow the bloody first spell, we’re failing this activity for sure. I can’t believe the last team did that.”

           

            Harry shrugged. He just wanted this bloody headache to stop distracting him.

 

            Both men lined up behind their respective entrance points. They dropped their robes and took deep breathes. They ran in when the professor blew her whistle.

 

            Harry stopped after he got inside the doorway. The course looked much different than he expected: it was like a long, wooden cabin. There was some broken furniture inside of it. It appeared that the walls were spelled so that the partners could not hear each other nor the people on the outside. Harry took another look around.

 

            “Expelliarmus!” he heard. He moved out of the way and ran through the next door. The room didn’t change at all except there was only a small table and two chairs instead of the other furniture that the last room had. Harry stepped through it slowly. He felt a weird tingling in his legs, similar to what he felt the other night at the University.

 

            He pointed his wand to his legs and screamed, “Unjellify!” He decided to cast his Shield Charm for the remainder of the course. This was obviously supposed to be a logic challenge, and he wasn’t sure that being overly cautious or overthinking the course was the goal. He kept walking through the room, his wand at the ready. Harry felt his legs tighten, then he warded off the _Locomotor Mortis_ that had come his way.

           

            He moved into the next room. This particular room was poorly lit and was filled with tons of furniture: a couch, a bookcase filled with books, several chairs, a table, and some shelves. There was a note on the table next to the entrance. The note read, “Find the key or be trapped forever.”

           

            “Accio key,” Harry called before he thought. He closed his eyes and braced for the worse, waiting for something like the Gringotts trap. The key flew into his hand. Nothing else appeared to happen. He walked across the room and unlocked the door. He stepped into the fourth room.

 

            This room was empty. The walls were stripped of any paint, yet it still felt like he was in a completely different building. He had goosebumps on his arms. He spotted a black figure near the exit. Harry raised his wand, but he dropped it as soon as he heard a scream.

 

            “Dementor!” Harry called out. He wasn’t sure why he was announcing it or to whom. He was alone, wasn’t he? He was…. Everything went black.

 

* * *

           

            Harry awoke to find himself lying in a clinic bed with Ron looking over him.

 

            “Harry! Are you okay?” Ron asked. He went to hug his friend, but he backed off when Harry groaned in pain.

 

            Harry touched his throbbing head. “What happened?” he muttered.

 

            “You passed out, mate. What happened to you? What do you remember?”

 

            “You didn’t see the Dementor?”

 

            “Dementor?” Ron asked, slightly confused. “Oh! That’s your…that’s your Boggart. No, that was room four. I had just finished room three when Professor Proudfoot stopped the course. Do you want some chocolate?”

 

            “I’m fine,” Harry replied. “What happened to the course?”

           

            “Well, we…” Ron looked embarrassed. “We failed,” he admitted.

 

            “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

 

            “Harry! It’s fine. Seriously. I know that you’re not doing too well right now, so don’t worry about it.”

 

            The nurse came in and signaled for Ron to leave as she checked Harry’s head. Harry lie in the bed after she left. He had already missed about ten days that year, **and** he failed the course alongside whatever other assignments he had had. What the hell was he going to do now?


	8. Chapter 8

Harry

TW panic attack mention

          

Although Harry’s mental health had had its ups and downs over the course of the month, his training had only had its downs. It was early June, and Harry had his exams coming up. He’d been trying to study for a while but to no avail. He’d open his textbook and just completely space out. It was like his brain was trying to fail training on purpose. When the year first began, he knew that he’d easily pass the practicals and a few of the written exams, but now he was worried that he’d perform as poorly on those as he would for the theoreticals.

  
            Currently, he has skimming his Advanced Charm Theory notes, simultaneously attempting to decipher his own handwriting. He’d only made it through one chapter when he decided to check the clock.

 

            “An hour!” he exclaimed, “I’ve been looking at one bloody page for _an hour_.” Harry groaned and put his head down on the desk. He felt like he was never going to catch up. After his embarrassing melt down during the obstacle course, Harry missed class every time he felt slightly anxious.  As a result, even if he _could_ read his notes and memorize them, he’d still be missing the vital information from the past month.

           

            Harry stood up. He desperately needed a break from this— _all_ of this. He couldn’t just sit around and wait for the information to pop into his head. He decided to go on a broom ride to clear his head. Grabbing a light jacket, he headed outside quickly. He rode around London for an hour or two before he got bored with the familiar sights. Harry made a conscious decision to go to the University of Manchester. It was the first time that he went there without it being sleep-flying or simply passing through. The trip only took him an hour, and it was only that long because he’d chosen to fly so slowly. When he arrived at the campus, he landed just behind the Williamson Building. It looked very different to him now that he wasn’t high. He hid his broom behind a bush and casted a concealment charm for it.

 

            He took a deep breath and turned around to look at the surrounding buildings. Why was he always so drawn to this place? Was it the sense of calm? The lack of reporters? The seeming normalcy? Harry suspected all three.

 

            He walked around the campus for an hour, attempting to imagine a life where Voldemort never existed and his parents never died and he never went through all of the stupid shit with the war and his PTSD—he took another deep breath. He wasn’t going to hyperventilate here. He kept walking.

 

* * *

 

            Harry had his first exam Monday, June 5th. He had finished it fairly quickly since it was just a written portion on Anti-Deadly Disease Wards. Going into the exam, Harry assumed that the hardest part would be remembering the difference between the old Latin, Arabic, and Greek names, but once he finished, he realized that he would be lucky to pass at all. His suspicions were confirmed later that day when the results were posted: he had failed massively.  

 

            Nevertheless, Harry finally knew what he had to do. He was on his way to the department now: 4PM on a Wednesday. He and Andromeda had spoken the night before about Harry’s options, and they were both aware that Harry’s current mental state couldn’t handle the training process and the subsequent stress of the career.

 

            He went up the lift to the 3rd floor. The office of the head of the Auror Training Sub-department was stationed in the Probational and Minor Offense Department due to the fact that the head was often involved in probationary hearings. Harry was frightened about what would happen when he turned in his withdrawal form, but he knew that it was for the best. He knocked on the auror’s door.


	9. Chapter 9

Draco

TW drugs/meth/cocaine/pills, self-harm/cutting, eating disorders/anorexia, panic attacks, food, family, death

 

            Draco had no clue what the hell he was going to do. His regular dealer was gone for the week, so he had bought his coke off someone else. He should’ve known that it was cut with something else, honestly. It resembled salt and it burned like hell when he snorted it. He did two lines about an hour ago, and he was still so fucking high. He had done meth before, but he’d never done it right before work.

 

            He hadn’t quit shaking since the second line. Logically, Draco knew that he wasn’t going to get in trouble at work: other people had shown up on meth before. Draco quit drumming his fingers on his legs and threw his glass across the kitchen.

 

            “This stupid shit _always_ makes me paranoid. Damn it!” he screamed. He grabbed his wallet and walked out the door. He didn’t even lock it when he left; he didn’t have any valuable shit, anyways. Draco groaned. He was going to get a hamburger and fries because the fat in them would kill the tweak. He thought through his process, _I took a valium about five minutes ago. It should start working soon. I’ll eat, walk to work, and work through the night. I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine._

 

            He bought some food from Archie’s Burgers and decided to stay in the restaurant to eat it. He sat down and slowly ate. The food was horrible in his current state, but he was starving. He tried to focus on eating for the calories, but his high brain couldn’t think about that. He attempted to focus on turning twenty, but his thoughts were too frequent and jumbled. He felt like he was in one of those manic states that Fab would describe: his brain and body were racing. Then again, the shaking could have been due to the bloody meth running through his system. Draco got angry again. He knew that he never should have trusted Darren’s “mate” for a fix. He got up, cleaned his table, and walked towards the bar.

 

            The walk was relatively unlively and boring, yet he still made sure to check out every person he saw. He tried to convince himself that this stuff made a person paranoid and that he should focus on controlling his thoughts rather than his environment. Merlin, he was so worried about work. He started grinding his teeth. He had seen how Darren prepared drinks and spoke to customers; Draco would _hate_ to act like that while on the clock. When he finally reached the Black Cauldron, he promised himself that he’d shut his brain up. He clocked in and waited for the night, and the high, to pass.

 

 

            This had probably been the worst birthday that Draco had ever had. _No, wait_ , he thought, _that one birthday when the Dark Lord lived with—yeah, yeah. That’s right._ His high had only gotten worse, and he’d been so fidgety and jumpy that Sally had asked him if he wanted to take the night off. He ended up sticking it out for the entire night; however, he had almost lost his cool when one drunk customer decided to curse out the entire crew working that night. It was only Draco and Sally since Darren had called out last minute due to an “illness.” Draco promised himself that he’d kick Darren’s arse next time he saw him.

 

            Draco was walking home with Sally now. At first, she’d attempted to make conversation, but now she had stopped. An eerie silence filled the air. Draco didn’t mind silence so much. It usually helped him think and plan. Then again, that was when he wasn’t high on meth.

 

            He groaned loudly.

 

            “Are you okay?” Sally asked. Concern filled her voice, and she moved her hand as if to check his forehead for a fever. At the last second, she must have decided that that was a silly idea because she jerked her hand away. Draco realized that they had never actually touched each other or hugged. He didn’t know why he cared.

 

            “Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I’m great. Just thinking. Y’know, thinking,” he replied. She stopped walking and simply just stared at him. He cursed himself for not stopping after the first “yeah.”

 

            “Why are you cursing? What’s going on?” Sally asked.

           

            _Fuck_ , Draco thought—and he was sure to think it this time. He sighed. “I accidentally took some meth.”

 

            “Accidentally? Did it just…. _fly_ into a needle?!” She said, her voice growing in volume.

 

            “Wait, what? No! I don’t, I don’t do that.”

 

            “So, you do meth, but you’re too good to shoot up? Okay, then.” She rolled her eyes.

 

            “I don’t ‘do’ meth! I only do coke and pills, but I got my last hit from a friend of Darren’s because I’m dumb as shit, and I didn’t think it through, and now I’m super high, and I don’t know what to do. What the hell do I do? Do you even do drugs? Do you even know anything _about_ drugs?”

 

            “Cool it, you tweaking twink. It’ll be okay. Just, lie low. Try to stay calm. Eat something. I can call a friend if you need help coming down,” She said. She reached out to touch his arm, but she dropped her hand. Was she always this reluctant to touch him? How long had it been since he’d hugged someone? Why the bloody hell did his meth brain _care_ right now?

 

            “I’ve done meth before. I know what to do! I just…have never done it by surprise.”

 

            “How much?”

           

            “I don’t know. One hit. I smoked it.”

 

            “You _smoked_ it? People still do that?”

 

            He just stared at her. How was this helping him not be high as hell? He _wanted_ to be high as Hades—typically the same idea, but not nearly as horrible and terrifying.

 

            “Nevermind,” Sally said, “Look, if you’ve only ever smoked it, you probably didn’t experience a true meth high. Snorting it—and shooting it up—gets you _way_ higher than smoking it. I don’t know why. That’s just how meth is. This isn’t exactly what you experienced before. You’re gonna have to just spend a few days in your apartment. I’ll bring you food and take care of your cats, okay?”

 

            Draco nodded, and they started walking back to the apartments again.

 

 

            It was day three, Wednesday, and Draco felt like shit. He didn’t sleep at all on Monday, and it was hell trying to sleep Tuesday night because he had started coming down. At this point, Draco suspected that the “coke” was more meth than anything else. He had his final meeting with his probation officer today, and he was not going to let some damned meth ruin it. He stopped rocking back and forth—something he found himself doing a lot when he was mentally vulnerable—and got up to take some Xanax. He was hoping that the combination of the two drugs would make him feel sober. That’s what Sally told him to do, anyways.

 

            Somehow, he still wasn’t sure about Sally—or any muggles, really. They helped each other and even went out of their way to make sure someone was safe or okay. Sally had spent part of her savings in order to get Draco some Xanax since he blew all of his money on that coke. He had always been taught that kindness was weakness, and that was why the muggles were so weak: they didn’t know when to be selfish. When the war first ended, he spent a lot of time being confused. He didn’t know what to think about muggles and muggleborns and half-bloods. He didn’t know what to think about Dumbledore and Hogwarts. He didn’t know what to think about the Death Eaters or Harry Potter or even all of the bloody things that happened to him as a result of his father’s “career.”

 

            He did know that he hated his parents. His mother had stopped sending him so many letters, and he hadn’t checked to see if she sent him anything for his birthday. She almost always got him some chocolate, a new broom, and a surprise gift. Now he doubted that she would even be able to afford the chocolate. Aren’t you supposed to love your parents? Family above all else, right? Maybe he shouldn’t hate his parents…?

 

            Draco sat back down. He pulled his knees up to his chest and tightly wrapped his arms around his legs. He had to quit. He had to quit doing drugs and drinking and cutting and the rest of this bullshit. He had been like _this_ for so long that he didn’t even know who he was anymore. It was exactly five years since he started snorting coke, and he was popping pills, cutting, and starving long before that. _Maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m just a fuck up,_ he thought. He laid his head down. Now he understood why his father hated pronouns. It was so hard to tell who “they” was in this thought even though he was the one doing the thinking.

           

            “Why am I so bloody fucked up? _Pour quoi? Pour_ fucking _quoi?_ ” He sniffled a little bit, trying to will his tears back. It didn’t work. It never worked, and it never would. He was always going to be fucked-up little Draco. He’d always be alone. He felt the tears fall down his face and let out a little sob.

           

            “No,” he said forcefully. “I’m not losing my shit today. Not today. Not now. Not today, damn it!” His body jerked a few times, and he started to hiccup. The rocking got worse. “No no no no no no no,” he repeated. He shook his head with each “no” and started rubbing his hands together. He was told that sometimes “calming sensations” would help before a panic attack. They never did. He counted to ten and backwards in English. He did the same in French. He got to “four” in Spanish before he started to hyperventilate. He decided to focus on the floor.

 

            “Dark tan carpet with some stains. It feels itchy, but it’s okay. The walls are a pale tan. No, wait, they’re white. The…the walls…” He started shaking his head again. These dumb exercises would never work! Draco finally decided to just let go. He would let himself have this stupid meltdown, and then he’d calm down and go to the meeting, and everything would be fine. He started to sob harder.

 

 

            Several hours passed before Draco finally calmed down. He flushed all of his drugs and poured his liquors down the sink. He was going to get better. He had to get better. He was finally not feeling high, so he was pretty confident about his meeting. He’d rarely ever been “manic” before, and he wasn’t completely familiar with not feeling like shit. He took a long, lukewarm shower.

 

            Draco apparated to the 3rd floor and walked to the Probational Sub-department. He was sent straight to Dousselsnorf’s office. It took about five minutes for the officer to even show up, but Draco was fine with that. It was his last chance to snoop around the room looking for some clues about Dousselsnorf’s family. Once he found the pictures of the officer’s wife and three kids, he heard someone clear their throat behind him. It was Dousselsnorf.

 

            “What do you think you’re doing?” He asked, with a slightly angry and skeptical tone.

 

            “Reading….” Draco looked back at the shelf and picked up a random book, “the _Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_?”

 

            “Sit down, you ungrateful, little git. I want this meeting to go as quickly as possible so that you’re out of my life for good,” Dousselsnorf replied, a vein in his forehead throbbing.

 

            “Likewise,” Draco sneered. He set the book down on the shelf and wiped his hand on his pants, as if he touched something filthy. Dousselsnorf rolled his eyes, seeing through Draco’s façade.

 

            They continued their meeting and discussed Draco’s short-term and long-term goals. Draco spoke about maintaining his job, fully furnishing his apartment, going to university, and, most importantly, getting clean. Dousselsnorf seemed less angry than normal, so Draco thought that know was the perfect time to poke the bear.

 

            “So, you have a family?” the blond asked, pointing towards the now-hidden pictures.

 

            Dousselsnorf sighed and stood up from his chair. He grabbed the family portrait off of his book shelf. His entire family, including himself, was smiling and waving towards the camera. He set the picture down on his desk and faked a small smile.

 

            “Yes, I do. Two boys and a baby girl. My wife’s name was Maria, and our children were Marco, Jeremiah, and Susana,” he stated, a somber look filling his face.

 

            “’Was’? ‘Were’? Wh-what happened to them?” Draco asked. He felt like he already knew the answer.

 

“Well, I, like Auror Escobar, used to be a high level auror. We were partners, and we were working on a very specific mission to figure out Death Eater business in France…”

 

            Draco swallowed. He didn’t want to hear this story anymore.

 

            Dousselsnorf continued, “Eventually, the Death Eaters must have discovered. One day we went to our respective homes only to find everyone dead inside. Since then, I moved to the Probational Office. Escobar decided to partake in auror training, and he was soon moved to the head position. It was at my request that his office be on this floor.” Dousselsnorf made eye contact with Draco. Draco didn’t break it.

 

            “I’m so sorry,” Draco said. He started to harshly rub his knuckles across his left forearm where the Dark Mark was.

 

            “The past is the past. People get hurt. They die. They end up messed up beyond belief. But I took this job so that I could help people heal and change. You are still a person, and all of this applies to you. Do you know that, Draco?”

 

            Draco nodded. He looked down at his lap in shame.

 

            Dousselsnorf pointed towards the door and said, “Now, you walk out of here, and you never walk back in here, okay? I hate it when people get out only to be sent back in again.”

 

 

.          Draco offered his hand, and the officer took it. The blond got up and left. He checked his watch: it was 4PM. He was surprised that the appointment took so long. He walked down the hallway, passing the lift, and he made his way towards the designated apparation section of the floor.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry

TW insomnia, food, cigarettes, medicine/pills/addiction m, therapists/doctors, school, abuse m

           Harry was on his third cup of coffee by 9AM. He'd been awake for only an hour after somehow getting eight hours of sleep. Sure, he'd lain in bed for a few hours before he'd _actually_ drifted off to sleep, but this was progress. Harry was slowly getting ready for his 11AM therapy appointment. He got up from the loveseat on the porch, put his cigarette out, and went back inside. Andromeda was bathing Teddy, so Harry decided that he would make them all breakfast. He made a few crumpets, cooked scrambled eggs, and cut up some fruit for Teddy.

           Breakfast went by quickly. Andromeda tried to sound excited about Harry's plans for that day, but she really just sounded a bit confused. After his therapy appointment, Harry was going to go to another university tour. The month of July had been filled with tours, and he had already visited the University of London, the University of Westminster, Middlesex University, and the University of Manchester. Today, at two, Harry was going to visit the University of Manchester again.

           It wasn't that Andromeda thought badly of muggle universities or education: it was just that she didn't understand _why_ Harry wanted to go to one so badly. She pointed out that, even if he didn't want to be an auror, he could still have any job in the wizarding community. However, Harry didn't want to stay in the wizarding community. Ever since he left auror training, he hadn't been able to escape the wizarding press whenever he went to _any_ wizarding neighborhood. The press was only becoming more and more overbearing since McGonagall announced that Hogwarts would be looking for professors for the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. Who did Harry think was worthy of the position? Did he think that it was still cursed? Did he think that Ron's older brother, Charlie, would be selected as a professor? What about Neville Longbottom?

           Harry couldn't stand ignoring the press. He would barely even look at them or reply or even acknowledge them, but they still did not let up. It was exhausting.

* * *

 

           "So, Harry," Dr. Shelly began, "How have you been?"

           Harry sat down in his favorite seat in Dr. Shelly's office. He'd always picked the one closest to the door, in case he needed to escape or…something. He didn't know why he did it. It just felt weird to switch things up. Maybe this was a "symptom." Sometimes he felt like everything was a "symptom."

           "Harry?" she asked again. Her smile slipped a little.

           "Oh, yeah. I'm doing much better. The Ambien is really helping. I got eight hours of sleep last night!"

           "Wow! That's great, Harry. What was it like trying to get to sleep? Did it take a while? Did you wake up throughout the night?"

           "I took the Ambien about an hour before I laid down. I laid down around 10, but I don't think I fell asleep until 12. I'm not sure, though; I tried not to look at the clock. For the first night, I didn't wake up due to a nightmare or whatever. I do feel really sluggish though," Harry replied. He'd been seeing Dr. Shelly for a while, so he had learned by now that she liked details—not only because it helped give her information but also because it helped her know how Harry's memory was doing.

           "That sounds good. Are you experiencing any other bad side effects?" She took out her clipboard and pen.

           "Um…" Harry twiddled his thumbs. "I don't know. I have a slight headache… Oh! And I am so bloody thirsty. I'm just so insanely thirsty." Harry shook his head. It'd been a week since he started taking the medicine, and his dry mouth was still horrid.

           "Okay. That doesn't sound like anything we can fix. Magic is known to negatively influence the effects of muggle medicine like Ambien, so I don't think we'll use that. I suggest monitoring your caffeine intake, and maybe you can try drinking some decaffeinated herbal tea. The dry mouth will probably either stay or slowly go away. There's not much we can do about that though," the therapist noted. She glanced up at Harry after every couple of words she wrote down.

           "Do you think…" Harry trailed off. He shut his mouth and silently prayed that she didn't hear him.

           "Do I think what?" She asked. Dr. Shelly set her pen down and looked up at Harry.

           "Do you think it'll fix me…?" He asked, slightly embarrassed by his own question. He already knew what she was going to say.

           "'Fix' you?" Dr. Shelly inquired, "What do you mean? Harry, there is no "fix" for mental illness. We can treat symptoms, but you have to understand that this isn't something that makes you 'broken' or merits 'fixing.' It's all just neurotransmitters and bad experiences." He sighed and bit his lip. He'd been staring at his lap ever since she started her mini-rant. She continued, "The Ambien CR will help you as much as it can. Not everyone's brain is compatible with it, but I think that yours is doing well. You'll take it for about another month, and then we're going to re-analyze where you're standing and how much it has helped you. If you really need to keep taking it, we'll have you go a couple of weeks without it before prescribing it again. People get addicted to this stuff all the time, and the last thing you need is an addiction."

           "Okay, okay. I get it," Harry bit back. He just wanted to feel normal again. "So what can I do in the meantime?"

           "Keep taking it. Keep up the regular sleep schedule. And cut back on the coffee, mister. It'll stain your teeth, anyways," She smiled at him.

           Harry still didn't know if he trusted her. After growing up with the Dursleys, hearing about "shrinks" and how mental health is "bullshit," he still couldn't help but feel that all of this was stupid. He'd only gotten a therapist in the first place due to Hermione's pushing. He never expected to go to therapy for this long. He never expected it to help. He never expected to get so attached to his therapist. He looked up from his lap. Dr. Shelly was watching him.

           "No more dreams?" She questioned.

           He shook his head and replied, "Nope. Not even good ones. Is that nor…" he stopped himself. She didn't like it when he said "normal." "…regular?"

           "Well, yes. Ambien is known to change how you sleep, and dreaming is just a part of that cycle. Most people experience what they describe as 'strange' or 'weird' dreams, though. They're not that problematic, but I'd still like for you to keep me updated on your dream sequences and such."

           Harry nodded. He cleared his throat. This damned dry mouth was going to be the death of him. "I have another campus tour today," he stated.

           "You do? That's fantastic! Where at?" she leaned towards him. Harry knew that she was very particular about her body language. Sometimes he wondered if her personality around him was simply a façade she put up for patients.

           "The University of Manchester," he replied.

           "Again? I'd say you're drawn to that place."

           He chuckled, "Yeah! Just like when I, uh…" Harry realized that he didn't tell her the full extent of the sleep-walking. "When I stopped by there one night when I got some Archie's. I really love the city. It's so different from London." He could tell that she wanted to ask about it, but she changed the subject.

           "How do you feel about all these life changes? Do they make you feel unstable?"

           Harry shrugged. "Not really. I dunno. I think I'm just looking for some excitement. I think this might be the place. It just feels… _magical_." He smiled, as he knew that he'd gotten that same twinkle in his eye whenever he'd thought about Hogwarts. Maybe this would feel like that. Maybe it'd feel like home.

           "Be careful, Harry," she warned. He was confused. Why wasn't she as excited? Upon viewing his confusion, she continued, "You tend to get…what's the word? I      don't want to use the wrong one. You tend to get attached to places and people. I don't want this to become another escape route for you."

           "Escape route?" he asked, "What do you mean?"

           "Hogwarts was an escape for you from your abusive family. Magic was an escape from bullying and being an outcast. Sirius and Remus were escapes from your…lack…of family connections. All these things, Diagon Alley, Dumbledore, Ron, Hermione, magic, Hogwarts…. these have all been coping tools for you. And you've been devastated when they haven't been exactly what you wanted or expected. There was still abuse and hatred and racism in the wizarding world. There was still manipulation and untrustworthiness in authority figures. There was still loss and death. I mean…" She threw up her hands and quickly clasped them together, as if scared of Harry's reaction to this information. "I mean look at how quickly you forgave Severus Snape. You look for the best in people, which isn't wrong!" Harry wanted to protest this. He wasn't looking for the best; he was looking for the objective truth! "When you found out about Dumbledore's past, you were crushed, weren't you?" He nodded. "You got angry. You had an episode. Then you got even angrier when Ron and Hermione didn't fully agree with you. You forgot about Dudley's bullying and Snape's abuse when they did one little nice thing."

           "I don't understand. Everybody wants me to be a good person and forgive them!" Harry's voice rose. He was angry, and he knew his face was turning red, but he was _so_ angry. She hardly knew him. How the bloody hell did she think that she could make these assumptions about his life when _he_ lived it—not her?

           "I know," she said. Her voice developed into the "look at me I'm sympathetic and I understand" tone that she always appointed when trying to calm him down or explain something. "It must be awful for you to have to forgive everyone." She paused. "This is what we call 'abused kid' behavior. Feeling like it's _your_ responsibility to pardon your abusers or bullies or the so-called 'bad guys' of the world. It's not, Harry. You don't _have_ to forgive anyone. That mumbo-jumbo therapist bullshit about how forgiving and forgetting will free you? Yeah, it's bullshit."

           Harry was shocked. He'd never heard her curse before.

           "I'm sorry. It's bullcrap. Now, I want you, Harry, to go to this damn tour and enjoy it. Don't place all your hopes and dreams into it or anyone else there. It's up to _you_ to make these things come true, or to do whatever other moral a white Suburban mum would tell you. You've got a lot of decisions to make and a lot of changes to come. Embrace them." She took a deep breath and put her clipboard on her desk.

           Harry started laughing. "'White Suburban mum.' Are you doing okay? Have you had a hard week?"

           " _Merlin_ , yes. I had a bloody house call, and I had to break up a domestic dispute. Like I'm a bloody auror or a police agent. I'm neither of those!" She pressed her palm against her forehead, as if warding off a headache. "It's the end of the hour, and you're my last case. I'm going to go home and drink an entire bottle of some bloody elf wine." They laughed together and stood up, walking out the door. He signed out of the office and apparated to Manchester.

* * *

 

           Even though he saw the same buildings again, Harry felt like he learned a lot during the tour. He probably should have told everyone that he'd already applied to the university through the Department of Magic—they had set up their own wizard-to-muggle education program—and been accepted. This wasn't another prospective student tour: it was an accepted student tour. Yes, he made impulsive decisions, but didn't those always pay off? He decided not to answer his own question.

           Harry was currently sat in the Admissions building, waiting to hear back from the School of Arts, Languages, and Cultures. If he got accepted, he was going to do the Religions and Theology course. He smiled to himself and went back to reading the University Life magazine that he grabbed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so late! I've been sorta depressed lately, and the news about Chester Bennington didn't help.This chapter is kinda short because tomorrow I plan on releasing a much longer chapter. Thank you for your patience!! <3

Draco

TW drugs/alcohol m, food/eating disorders

 

Draco tidied up his room, placing the newly washed duvet on his mattress. He folded his blankets and placed them on top of the bed. He was quite proud of himself: after trying to get clean, he finally calculated all the money that he had spent towards drugs and booze. He wasn’t happy that he was spending over 80% of his paycheck on it, but he was happy that this now meant that he could actually furnish his apartment. The bed platform that he bought was simple, and it came from ASDA, but it still made a huge difference between “cocaine addict’s bedroom” and “finally getting shit together through décor.” He bought himself some new clothes, and he got his cats some toys and expensive food, too. Life seemed different. It almost seemed peaceful.

 

The AA meetings that he’d been going to were paying off. He’d already been to three by the 24th of July, and he finally felt like things were going to be better someday. He felt like a weight been lifted off his chest. He still felt overwhelmingly sad, of course. He still had those dumb nightmares and nights where he just couldn’t get to sleep, but he was slowly getting better.

 

Today was going to be a rather busy day. He had a meeting with an advisor at the College of Arts, Languages, and Cultures at the University of Manchester. He had declared his course, and now he needed to enroll in his classes. He also had to re-affirm his off-campus housing. School was going to be in session mid-September, and there were still many forms left to fill out. It was hard to not feel overwhelmed, but Draco was trying. God, was he trying.

 

Afterwards, Draco was going in to work. This was the eighth day in a row that he had closed, and he wasn’t entirely sure that it was healthy, but he was glad to have the extra money. Maybe he’d convince himself to eat at some point. He was still recovering—no matter how slowly.

 

* * *

 

Draco ate a peanut butter sandwich and a banana before heading off to the university. He was excited and nervous, so bloody nervous, about what he was going to do. The part that still killed him was that he didn’t know if he was doing this to make himself happy or to make his parents angry. As long as he enjoyed it, did it really matter? The kicker was what he was going to study: Ancient History and Theology. His father thought that wizarding history was shit—all written by left extremists to convince wizarding society that slavery and blood purity were wrong. He would have a shit if he knew that his heir was studying muggle history. Draco didn’t know how much of a shit to give.

 

When he arrived at the university, he felt like he was in a different world. He’d spent so long assimilating to muggle life, yet he was still attempting to grasp an understanding of muggle reliance upon household appliances and cars and the like. He felt terrified of the university. He swallowed the fear back and searched for a different feeling: adrenaline. He’d always been a fan of adrenaline. It felt like every drug he’d ever done but more natural. A few people stared at him as he just stood at the university entrance. He sighed and walked towards the admissions building.

 

The building looked the same as it did when he first visited: old, antique, ancient. Draco didn’t care which one it was. Growing up as a Malfoy, they all felt like synonyms—or maybe that was his French brain talking. He was about to check in when he saw a familiar head of black hair. He hid behind the potted plant in front of the door and peered out. He saw dark skin, messy and curly hair, and a lightning-bolt shaped scar. There was no bloody way. There was no bloody way that Potter was there.

 

“What’s he _doing?_ ” Draco whispered to himself. “He better not be bloody _enrolling!”_ He looked around before he ran. He ran away like the bloody coward he’d always been. He cursed himself before apparting, mid-day, back to his home.


	12. Chapter 12

Harry

TW pills/medicine m, insomnia, homophobia/internalized homophobia, food

Harry checked for the owl again. He had been waiting on his official class schedule to come in, but he still wasn’t sure that it would arrive on time. Andromeda had decided to get a post box for any muggle mail that may come in, especially for Harry, and that their owl Mercury would get the mail from the post box every night after the post ran. That meant that Harry wouldn’t get the official schedule until the day _after_ it came in the post. He didn’t know why he felt so nervous other than the fact that the last time he went to a muggle school he got the crap beaten out of him nearly every day. University surely couldn’t be the same, he reminded himself.

 

He went back to the bathroom mirror to look at himself again. The robes he had on were relatively new and elegant,—a deep red velvet with some blacker undertones—but they were also wrinkly and had obviously been slept in. It wasn’t his fault. He’d been taken off the Ambien and that messed up his sleeping schedule. Harry grabbed his comb and wet it, attempting to get his hair to stay down. He strongly considered buying some of the Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion that Hermione used sometimes, but he didn’t see the use. Did anyone really care about his messy hair? He sighed and set the comb down.

 

To say that Harry was excited for this conference was an over exaggeration in the least. Hogwarts had re-opened last year, but the renovations were still occurring. At that point, not many people wanted to return anyways. There were so many remedial classes and off-limits areas of the school that it hardly felt like Hogwarts.

 

This year was apparently different. Harry loved Hogwarts, but he didn’t see why everyone was so arsed to get his opinion. Other members of the DA would also be there, but he supposed that that was a given. The conference was also a feast, and it was somewhat open to the public.

 

Harry stopped fooling with his appearance and went out to the small foyer to greet Andromeda and Teddy.

 

“’Arry! Look, look! _Je suis_ mean….mean…” Teddy stopped talking as a confused look spread across his face. He looked at Andromeda.

 

“ _Mignon_ , _mon amour. Tu es très mignon._ [Cute, my love. You are very cute.]” Andromeda informed him, grinning. She ruffled his hair and went back to looking at Harry. “You look like a strapping young man,” she said.

 

Harry wrinkled his nose. “I bloody hate dressing up.”

 

“Language,” Andromeda reprimanded him. She grabbed his arm, and together they apparated to Hogwarts.

 

It looked just as marvelous as it always did. Harry couldn’t help but overlook the dark vibes of the castle; he knew that it would feel different, but he didn’t care that much. The Entrance Hall had obviously been redone, but it had kept its token marble staircase and oak doors. Harry, Andromeda, and Teddy had begun making their way to the Great Hall when suddenly Teddy started screaming.

 

“No, no, no!” Teddy jerked his hand from Andromeda’s and started his tantrum. Harry held his breath. The toddler couldn’t have known about what all happened here, could he? Maybe he could feel the energy or see the ghosts… “I wanna hold ‘Arry’s hand! ‘Arry! ‘Arry!” Harry exhaled.

 

“That’s okay, bud. We can do that. It’s no problem,” Harry said. He smiled and grabbed Teddy’s hand. The toddler wiped his tears away, still somewhat angry. Andromeda squeezed Harry’s arm. He had never told her where Tonks died, so he supposed that she assumed it was here. He offered her a sad smile. It was then that he looked at the Great Hall.

 

The Great Hall had suffered the bulk of the destruction and despair, and that was obvious when one looked at the final renovations. When Harry last came for a conference, the Great Hall was only halfway done. The walls had just been finished, but were unpainted. The tables were a temporary, cheap wood. There were no chandeliers, only sconces. The big window had been replaced with a cheap, semi-transparent glass. So much had changed. The walls were painted with their traditional tan, but now they were also covered in art and murals. Each person who died in the fight against the Death Eaters was given their own mini-painting. There were ten long tables for the students, as opposed to the traditional four grand tables. This was an evident move for house unity. The professors had one grand table at the front, the throne-like chair still sat for the headmaster. Seasonal wreathes were positioned under each of the sconces—resembling modern looking lamps magically lit by fire. There was an elegant glass chandelier over every table. The big window was now a mosaic with Hogwarts’s logo, each house’s representative animal, and _Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus_ at the bottom. Between the bottom of the window and the top of McGonagall’s picture, there was a modest mural of Harry’s patronus.

 

Harry had had some say in the renovations, perhaps more than he should have. He ultimately left it up to McGonagall, the professors, and the renovation crew, but he knew that he’d have to get involved when they mentioned including a massive panorama dedicated to Harry in the Great Hall. He’d managed to convince them that all he needed, and much more than he wanted, was a small painting of his patronus. At least that way he could pretend like all of this wasn’t about him.

 

“Do you like it? I did it,” a sing-song voice behind him asked. He turned around to greet Luna with a hug.

 

“Like it? I love it! It’s….” Harry stopped midsentence. He looked at it again, noting the mixture of the deep blues, light blues, whites, greys, and the black. It was elegant and subtle. It was exactly what he wanted. “It’s perfect, Luna.”

 

Teddy let go of Harry’s hand and ran to Luna, clinging onto her legs. She giggled.

 

“C’mon, Teddy. _Il faut que nous trouvions un siège_ _,_ [We have to find a seat,]” Andromeda said. She grabbed Teddy’s hand and led him over to a table.

 

“How are you doing?” Luna asked.

 

“I’m, y’know, I’m good. You?” Harry asked.

 

“Don’t tell me the rumors are true!” Dean said, faking a gasp.

 

“Oh, well, they are. All the rumors are true. I am simultaneously shagging Ginny, Hermione, Ron, and apparently Mrs. Weasley,” Harry joked. He turned around to greet Dean but stepped back due to surprise. Dean was holding hands with Seamus, and both men were grinning at Harry.

 

“Ah, I knew it,” Dean replied. “No, actually. I meant the rumors about you dropping out of auror training and attending a muggle university.”

 

Harry shook his stupor away. “Oh, those. Yeah, um, they’re true. I just figured that I should do something a little more…lowkey, y’know?” Harry swallowed. He noticed that he was rubbing his chin. “Well, uh…I’d better be off. Y’know, big speech to do.” He faked a smile. “Nice seeing all of you again!”

 

Harry turned and walked away. He ignored the people calling his name, remarking upon his bravery. He took his assigned seat to the right of McGonagall. Hardly anyone had sat down at the speakers’ table yet. He stared down at his cup as it almost instantly filled with coffee. He took a sip.

 

It wasn’t that he was homophobic. He really, really wasn’t. He was just shocked. Neither Dean nor Seamus struck him as gay. And it wasn’t like he didn’t know it. He did! He was just…surprised. And shocked. And a little confused. Dean _did_ date Ginny, didn’t he? Did Harry imagine that entire year?

 

“Hello, Harry. I’m so pleased that you could make it,” McGonagall said, sitting down in her seat. Her eyes were warm, but there was also a sadness behind them. Harry wondered how she was faring. He wondered how much all of _this_ affected her, too.

 

“Thank you, Professor. I knew that I couldn’t miss it, in the very least.” He smiled at her.

 

“Headmistress,” she corrected.

 

“I know, I know. It’s just weird,” he replied.

 

“Indeed.” She nodded. “Are you ready for your big speech?”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “How many times have people asked me that in the past several years? You hear one speech, you hear ‘em all.” He took another sip of his coffee.

 

“Have a biscuit, Potter.”

 

“Haha, very funny,” He replied. He took a biscuit anyways. The familiarity felt nice to him.

 

* * *

 

His speech was predictable. It felt like some cookie cutter bullshit from another green-eyed teen picked for a random prophecy to save the world as it was known. It was about death and sorrow and forgiveness and hope and ghosts. Maybe he’d spent too much time reading YA dystopian novels in the past year. Nevertheless, everyone congratulated him. “It was great, Harry!” “Wow, you really have a way with words!” “That was beautiful!” “It made me cry—it was so great!” He didn’t know how to tell them that he bullshitted it.

 

His therapist called it “Imposter Syndrome.” He was so tired of being diagnosed with bullshit. He put down his coffee. Maybe he’d had too much. He just wanted to go home and have more coffee and take a stupid depression nap and wait for his mail.

 

He shut out his self-pitying thoughts when he noticed Charlie Weasley walking towards him.

 

“Nice, Harry!” Charlie said, he patted Harry on the arm. “You doing okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry replied. He faked a huge grin just for Charlie’s sake. “I’m doing great! And yourself?” He hated himself for lying to everyone all the time.

 

“Just cheeky. I’m really excited for this year to start. I can’t believe it’s only a week until Hogwarts goes back in session! Last year didn’t feel real, you know?”

 

Harry nodded. Nothing really felt real. Especially not these goddamned mood swings he was always having. How could he separate real and fake when his brain couldn’t even make the appropriate number of neurotransmitters or memories or melatonin?

 

“Harry?” Charlie said. His grin fell a bit.

 

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I was just thinking about how great this place looks now. The renovations have really done a number on it.”

 

“I know! Want a tour? I’d be happy to show you everything!”

 

Harry smiled, and this time it didn’t feel so fake. He nodded, “Yeah, that’d be great.” He threw his coffee cup away and followed Charlie out the door.

 

* * *

 

“Harry!” Andromeda called, “You’ve got mail!”

 

Harry ran down the stairs. Once he got to the kitchen, he exclaimed, “It finally came! Yes!”

 

Andromeda simply smiled and handed it to him.

 

He read it aloud, “Introduction to the Study of Religions and Theology—Monday and Friday from 10AM to 12PM, and Wednesday from 11AM to 12PM. Standing on the Shoulders of Giants—Tuesday from 2PM to 4PM and Thursday from 2PM to 3PM. Introduction to Islam—Monday and Friday from 1PM to 3PM, and Wednesday from 1PM to 2PM. Problems in the Philosophy of Religion 1—Tuesday from 4PM to 5PM and Thursday from 12PM to 2PM.”

 

Harry beamed. This schedule was exactly what he wanted, and the class times weren’t so bad, either. He couldn’t believe he was thinking it, but, for the first time in three years, he was very excited for school to start.


	13. Chapter 13

Draco

TW fire, death m, nightmares, pills/drugs m, food, homophobia/homophobic slurs, alcohol

 

The fire was _so_ bloody hot. Draco couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. It was all just so hot and smothering. _I’m dying_ , he thought. _This is it. I’m dead. I’m going to die._ The flaming serpents, chimeras, and dragons rose again. Draco felt as if they were coming straight for him. He was sat on top of some desks alongside Goyle’s stiff body. The flames kept rising. He doubted that they’d ever stop.

 

He began to hyperventilate. “I’m going to die here I’m going to die here I’m going to die here I’m going to—”

 

Draco woke up covered in sweat. He hadn’t had this dream in months. He rubbed his hands together, eager to get the memory of Potter’s hand, Potter’s selflessness, off his skin. He got up from his bed and walked to the kitchen, towards the cabinet with his pills. He stopped in his tracks when he remembered. Full of shame, Draco made himself a pot of coffee and a few sunny-side up eggs. He smoked while he cooked. He ate the eggs slowly, savoring every bite. He looked through his mail while he ate. He read through his classes again, attempting to memorize the schedule.

 

He wasn’t too worried about the semester—all of the classes would be easy enough. He was taking Constructing Archaic Greek History from 8AM to 10AM on Monday and Friday, and Wednesday from 9AM to 10AM; History in Practice Tuesday from 4PM to 5PM, and Thursday from 3PM to 5PM; Cities and Citizens from 12PM to 2PM on Monday and Friday, and from 12PM to 1PM on Wednesday; and Standing on the Shoulders of Giants from 2PM to 4PM on Tuesday, and from 2PM to 3PM on Thursday. Draco was always good at school work, and he knew that. The only class that he _might_ have a bit of a problem with would be Constructing Archaic Greek History, but even that shouldn’t affect his GPA since he expected to be the top of his general SALC course—Standing on the Shoulders of Giants. It was just an introduction to philosophy, art, language, and history. He smirked to himself. Maybe he’d be good at something again.

 

He’d always loved receiving good marks at school—that is, until his father found out that Draco was only second in the class compared to Hermione Granger. He blocked out the thoughts and went to the kitchen to wash his dishes. Afterwards, he drank another cup of coffee and took a shower. He had to change his availability for his job.

 

The walk to the Black Cauldron wasn’t at all interesting until Draco heard yelling coming from near the parking lot. He sped up, attempting to get a good look at whatever was happening at the bar. He smirked at the sight of police placing Darren in handcuffs.

 

“Oi, watch it, mate! Get the bloody hell _off_ o’ me,” Darren yelled, clearly extremely inebriated. “What the fuck you lookin’ at, fag?” Darren turned to Draco and lunged forward a bit, as if he was going to fight him with handcuffs on and police holding onto him.

 

Draco sneered. He didn’t have time for Darren’s bullshit, and he was honestly hoping that he had been busted for meth again. Maybe this time he wouldn’t be rehired. Draco truly didn’t understand the muggle world. He clocked in, only to find Fab talking to a new hire. He gave Fab a quizzical look as he stepped behind the bar.

 

“Xavier, this is Draco. He’s one of our head bartenders,” Fab informed the new hire.

 

“Head bartender? What? Since when have I been that?” Draco asked. He nearly laughed at the thought of being in charge around here.

 

“Well,” she said, “You have a lot of seniority. Most people don’t last around here. It’s Sally, Darren, then you. And you know about Darren.” She shot Draco a sly smile. Everyone despised Darren.

 

“Hi, Draco. It’s nice to meet you,” Xavier said, extending his arm for a handshake. Draco blinked in surprise. He shook Xavier’s hand.

 

“You’re going to train him as bartender tonight. Okay, Draco?”

 

He nodded, and Fab went back into the kitchen. Draco spent the next few hours explaining the register, rush times, and basic bartender duties to Xavier.

 

The rush was just dying down when Draco noticed a large group of people entering. He didn’t think anything of the group until he noticed Neville Longbottom heading towards the bar. Draco began to panic. He checked out the rest of the group and saw Potter, Granger, a few Weasleys, and Luna Lovegood. Draco crouched down behind the bar. He crawled out the door, earning a nervous and confused look from Xavier. Draco didn’t care. He couldn’t let them see him.

 

First Potter was attending his university and now his bar? Did Draco not have one sacred place left? He stopped when he got past the back corner of the bar. He listened closely but could only hear Xavier’s words.

 

“Um…,” the new bartender said, “I’m not sure. I’m new here.” He sounded nonplussed as he looked around for Draco.

 

“Oh, well, that’s alright. We’ll just order some more simple stuff until you get help. What beer do you have?” Longbottom replied.

 

Draco sighed and kept crawling. He stood up once he got to the kitchen and paced towards the employee bathroom.

 

“Draco?” Fab questioned.

 

He got up and locked the door. Draco stood in place for a few seconds before he felt the hot, salty tears run down his cheeks. He wiped them and rubbed his eyes. He pointlessly checked his back pockets for the letters he had written. After he got out of prison, he spent a long time writing apology notes for the Golden Trio and their friends. None of them felt right, but he used to keep them on him at all times. They felt stupid and silly. They felt superficial and vague and disingenuous. He gave up a few months ago; however, he still kept the pile of trashed notes in his apartment. He wiped a few more stray tears away from his face, unlocked the door, and stepped out of the bathroom.

 

“Draco, what the hell? Where were you? Xavier needs your help!” Fab yelled at him.

 

“I’m sorry,” he replied. He didn’t say anything else. He just walked past her and back behind the bar counter. Xavier looked positively relieved at the sight of Draco. Draco looked around and spotted Potter and Longbottom’s group in the very back of the bar. He gulped, not quite ready for whatever tonight would entail.


	14. Chapter 14

Harry

TW alcohol, drugs m, nightmares, insomnia

 

“Malfoy?” Harry inquired aloud.

 

“What’d you say, mate?” Ron asked him. The ginger was holding onto Hermione’s hand as she led him through the bar.

 

“Oh, uh, nothing. I just thought I saw something,” Harry replied. He checked for the head of white-blond hair but couldn’t see anything else. Harry shrugged it off. _Probably a doppelganger_ , he thought. _Why would Malfoy be in a muggle bar anyways? And why would he be_ working _there?_

They found their seats, and Harry positioned himself as far away from Ginny as possible so that he wouldn’t have to watch her kiss Luna. He wondered when he’d stop feeling so awkward, especially since he was the one to break up with her. Harry decided to do what he so often did: he shoved his emotions down and pretended they weren’t there.

 

Harry’s friends chatted, some of them already slightly tipsy. This was their third bar of the night, and Ginny was definitely crossing the line from “tipsy” to “drunk.” No one seemed to mind except Ron, who had ordered her to get a water.

 

“Ron. Shut. The. Hic. Up. You can’t boss me around. We’re not kids anymore. So, whoever is going to order drinks for us, I will have a martini,” Ginny barked. Her hiccups continued. She wasn’t even slurring her words, but the blush that crept up on her face and neck was enough to convince everyone of her inebriation.

 

Ron rolled his eyes.

 

“I’ll go,” Neville volunteered. “Anyone wanna join me? There’s no way I can carry everything.”

 

“Oh, me!” Harry said, suddenly. He felt an odd bit of excitement about going up to the counter. He’d forgotten why until he looked back at the counter, barely catching Malfoy’s eyes. He’d been staring at the group. “What’s everyone getting?”

 

“Shot,” Ron said.

 

“That’s not very descriptive.” Neville frowned. Harry giggled a bit to himself. He found out last year that Ron was a lightweight, but now he was assuming that no one else really knew about that.

 

“Fine,” Ron grumbled. “A fireball. And a beer, please.” He paused, thought over his answer, and finally replied, “A Blue Label.”

 

“Alright, that’s two fireballs,” Neville claimed, implying that he’d also be doing a shot.

 

“Water,” said Luna.

 

“Martini!” Ginny practically screamed.

 

“Two fireballs and a Blue Label,” Dean informed them, ordering for Seamus as well.

 

“Hermione?” Neville asked.

 

She looked like she’d been staring at the counter too. She was still deep in thought.

 

“Um,” she spoke up, “I’ll have a martini as well.”

 

Neville got up, leading Harry to the counter. Harry would have felt nervous about seeing and talking to Malfoy again, the first time since he'd given Malfoy's wand back after the war, but he was just a bit too tipsy to care. He walked into a stool at one of the nearby tables, and Neville grabbed his arm in order to steady him. 

 

"Thanks, Nev," Harry said. Neville smiled; he knew that Harry only gave people nicknames like that when he was drunk. They continued their journey, which felt _so_ long. Harry's mouth was feeling a bit dry. He suddenly remembered the night he visited the university. He thought of how dry the Dreamless Sleep Potion made his mouth, and he wondered if all types of drug-like stuff made him this way.

 

They finally reached the counter after what felt like forever.

 

"Hey, Malfoy," Harry slurred. "Fancy seeing you here."

 

Malfoy simply nodded curtly.

 

Neville winced at Harry’s drunkenness. He informed the bartenders, "We'll have four shots of fireball, two Blue Labels, two martinis, and a water."

 

"Three martinis," Harry corrected.

 

Neville shot him a puzzled look. "One for Ginny and one for Hermione, right?"

 

"And one for me," Harry beamed. He turned back to Malfoy and his assistant. He whispered, "I'm trying to slow down." He giggled a bit and then blushed. Malfoy looked like he was trying to choose between barfing and laughing. Harry suddenly felt like an idiot. “Three…three martinis, please,” He repeated.

 

“Okay, Xavier, would you like to make the shots or the martinis?” Malfoy asked his companion. The trainee, Xavier, was clearly nervous about this new task.

 

“I don’t…I don’t remember how to make a martini.”

 

“Really?” Malfoy exclaimed, flabbergasted. “There are five ingredients, and one of them is ice.” He rolled his eyes and continued, “I’ll do the martinis. You can do the shots and beer.” Malfoy put a bottle of water on the counter. His eyes darted between Harry and Neville as if he didn’t know which one to address.

 

“Hey, if you’re—” Harry broke the silence at the same time as Malfoy.

 

“Would you like the free nachos that are included with our happy hour? A purchase of three martinis merits a plate,” Malfoy claimed.

 

“Um, free nachos? Fuck yeah!” Neville exclaimed. He clapped Harry on the back. Harry grinned in response.

 

The rest of the night flew by as Harry and his friends hopped from bar to bar. They had helped him move into his new apartment in Manchester a few days beforehand; nevertheless, they’d spent the week before university went in session assisting Harry in getting used to the new city.

 

His apartment wasn’t much, and he really didn’t need it to be. The University of Manchester required him to either live on-campus or near the school, but he still planned on spending as much time with Teddy and Andromeda as possible. He wasn’t quite ready to completely live alone yet. There were times that, with his mental illness, he doubted he’d ever be able to. He hated thinking about that.

 

Harry’s week just before classes began was dedicated to familiarizing himself with his apartment, Manchester, and the university. Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna, Dean, Seamus, and Neville helped Harry move some of his belongings to his newly remodeled flat, a modest one-bedroom near Victoria Park. They’d spent a few days doing some light partying, strangely joined by Hermione, and visiting some tourist attractions.

 

Harry’s week just before classes began was dedicated to familiarizing himself with his apartment, Manchester, and the university. Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna, Dean, Seamus, and Neville helped Harry move some of his belongings to his newly remodeled flat, a modest one-bedroom near Victoria Park. They’d spent a few days doing some light partying, strangely joined by Hermione, and visiting some tourist attractions.

 

Harry had spent only part of his time thinking about Malfoy. He couldn’t understand why he was in Manchester, instead of in Étretat with his mother Narcissa. He couldn’t understand why he wasn’t in London. He couldn’t understand why he was in the damn _muggle_ world, of all places. Harry hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about Malfoy, no—at least that’s what he’d kept telling himself. He was done obsessing with things. He’d promised Ron and Hermione and his therapist and everyone else that he was done with his little obsessions. Besides, university was more important than Malfoy, whom Harry would very likely never see again.

 

His first day of classes were interesting, to say the least. He had somehow managed to not get lost. Introduction to Islam was almost definitely going to be Harry’s favorite course—he was sure of it! He took notes on the class directory and the syllabus, and he even managed to ask the professor a few questions during class. The textbook didn’t even appear to be that bulky and boring. On the other hand, he wasn’t so sure that he’d enjoy Introduction to the Study of Religions and Theology. According to the directory, the majority of their class wouldn’t actually be about religion but rather how to approach _studying_ religion. It seemed to be more like a philosophy class than anything.

 

Harry took a few melatonin in an attempt to replace his Ambien. He was going to have a long day tomorrow since he planned on apparating back to Andromeda’s and cooking dinner. He lay down on his new bed. It was still strange to him. He used to sleep in a cupboard. He used to sleep in Dudley’s extra room. He used in sleep at Hogwarts or Grimmauld Place or the Weasley’s or Andromeda’s. He’d stayed in so many homes, but after a while they were all taken away. He wondered if that was another symptom of his mental illnesses. He resolved to ask his therapist at his next appointment.

 

* * *

 

Harry knew when he’d had the second nightmare that he’d sleep through his first alarm. He knew when he woke up and paced around his flat for an hour or two that he’d sleep through his second alarm. He did not know, however, that he’d sleep through _every_ alarm except for the one he set up to sound just ten minutes before class began. He had no clue how he’d slept in until nearly 2PM, but here he was, trying to figure out exactly what to do. He decided to skip his usual coffee and cigarette, instead simply dressing, fetching his books, and apparating to the class’s building. He left the dark corridor and jogged to his classroom.

                                                                                                                    

            When he finally got there, he felt overwhelmed. It was obvious this was a class that most of the first-years in the College of Arts, Languages, and Cultures took as a default. Despite there being nearly two hundred seats, almost all of them were full. Harry chose a seat closest to the door. When he sat down, oblivious to his immediate surroundings, Harry heard someone clear their throat. He looked to his left and found himself sitting next to Malfoy.

 

Harry stood up right as the professor announced, “Hello, class! Please take your seats. We will begin now.” Harry sat back down and placed his bag at his feet. How did he have such rotten luck? Of _course_ he would pick the one university that Malfoy had picked. Of _course_ he would choose the same college that Malfoy had chosen. Of _course_ he would go to the same bar that Malfoy was working at. Of _course_ he’d picked that particular night to get shite-faced. Harry groaned and set his head down on the desk. He immediately realized what he’d done and snapped his head back up. Several people looked at him. Malfoy, on the other hand, decided to give Harry one of his infamous sneers. Harry rolled his eyes. He resolved to simply ignore Malfoy. Even if it didn’t work in the past, it had to work now. They were both different people than they were then, right?

 

Harry’s plan worked for the first half of the lecture. It felt like the longest hour of his life, but it only got more nerve-racking when Harry sniffed the air and caught a whiff of his own BO. _Oh, my god. I forgot deodorant. Oh my god oh my god. Day number two, and I already do something that labels me as the “weird kid_ ,” Harry thought. He stopped sniffing his own t-shirt when he thought again about how strange he probably looked. He chanced a quick glance at Malfoy, who was attentively staring at the professor and his own copy of the syllabus only.

 

Harry’s eyes darted down to what Malfoy was wearing. It was similar to what he wore the night at the bar: skinny jeans, a black t-shirt, a black jacket, and converses. He never thought he’d see Malfoy wearing muggle clothes. Malfoy suddenly glanced over, obviously aware of Harry’s staring. Harry looked down in shame. He felt a blush creeping on his face. He didn’t look up again until class ended. Malfoy stood up in a rush, collected his things, and nearly ran out the door. Harry continued sitting at his desk, still extremely confused.


	15. Chapter 15

Draco

TW alcohol/drunkenness, vomiting/emetophobia, food, weight loss m, insomnia m, panic attacks

Draco was very confused. In fact, he hadn’t been this confused since third year when he found out he was attracted to an older bloke on Slytherin’s quidditch team. No, this was nothing like questioning his sexuality. He just wanted to know why the bloody hell Harry freakin’ Potter had showed up at The Black Cauldron. Yet there Draco was—serving the bloke and his golden friends alcohol.

 

Draco was making mental notes of what the two were ordering—simple drinks, really, so Draco didn’t know why he was so nervous when Potter suddenly added, “Three martinis.”

 

Longbottom gave Potter a perplexed look. He asked, “One for Ginny and one for Hermione, right?”

 

Draco observed their faces. The entire group looked to be pretty tipsy, but Potter seemed to already be on the way to smashed. It made Draco feel sick. It’d been so long since he’d had a drink. Since he’d been drunk. It also made him sick because there Potter was: drunk as fuck, falling all over a fellow Gryffindor in front of his ex-nemesis. In a bloody muggle bar. How the fuck did Draco even end up here?

 

He was shaken out of his thoughts when Potter gladly added, “And one for me.” The man put his elbow on the counter so that he could get closer to Draco and Xavier. He put up his hand as if he were sharing a secret. “I’m trying to slow down,” he failed at whispering. Draco tried his best not to laugh. He usually loved it when patrons were giggly drunks; they were much better than the angry or horny ones. They radiated a kind of happiness that Draco’d only ever dreamed feeling. He looked at Longbottom, who was shaking his head in both amusement and shame, and tried to keep his emotions masked. His AA counselor told him that he’d feel a ton of confusing emotions after getting clean, but he never told Draco that he’d feel like vomiting and laughing out of nerves at the same time. Potter stepped back, self-awareness spreading over him. “Three….three martinis, please.”

“Okay, Xavier, would you like to make the shots or the martinis?” he asked Xavier, nearly sighing out of relief. It seemed that the rest of the night would be easy.

 

“I don’t…I don’t remember how to make a martini,” the assistant admitted. Draco could see a shameful blush creeping up on his cheekbones. It took all of Draco’s self-control not to make fun of him or roll his eyes.

 

“Really?” he all but screamed. “There are five ingredients, and one of them is ice.”

 

Xavier nodded. Draco’s self-control broke, and he rolled his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Potter smirk. Draco wanted to fucking die of embarrassment. “I’ll do the martinis. You can do the shots and beer.”

 

He fetched the bottle of water out of the mini-fridge under the counter. He went over the order again in his head, causing him to remember the stupid nachos deal. He took a deep breath and went to inform Longbottom and Potter. Suddenly, Draco froze. Would he talk to Longbottom, someone whom he never interacted with except to bully? Well, unless you consider the events of the Battle of Hogwarts, which Draco didn’t. He’d tried his best to shut it out. God damn, he really needed a drink. He looked back at Potter, who was too drunk to tell his left hand from his right.

 

“Hey, if you’re—” Potter began.

 

“Would you like the free nachos that are included with our happy hour? A purchase of three martinis merits a plate,” Draco burst out. He said it to the space between the two men. Draco paused, understanding that Potter just addressed him.  He wanted to reply and ask what he meant.

 

“Um, free nachos? Fuck yeah!” Longbottom exclaimed. He clapped Potter on the back in a friendly motion. Potter grinned in response. Draco felt his stomach flitter. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to do a shot. Instead, he started making their drinks.

* * *

 

Draco watched the group the entire night. He knew that he wasn’t being stealthy or sly, but then again, he never was when it came to Potter. Not really. The whole group pretty much ignored him except for Granger. She came up to the bar sometime that night and ordered more drinks.

 

When she was close enough to the counter, she took a quick look back at her friend group, and then she leaned in towards Draco.

 

She whispered, “What happened to you?” There was no malice in her voice. There was no anger or bitterness. There was only concern and curiosity. Draco didn’t know what to do. He forgot the bloody notes. He had no clue what to do.

 

He stepped back, breaking their eye contact, and asked, “What drinks would you like? We currently have our special Black Cauldron Potion, which is a mix of tequila, dark rum, and cranberry juice.”

 

She nodded, evidently understanding. Draco didn’t know what she understood. He didn’t even understand. She ordered the drinks, including the special and another plate of nachos, then she sat back down. It was clear that she wanted to fetch the drinks alone, as she requested a tray from Xavier. The newbie complied. Draco didn’t know if he’d comply. He also didn’t know why that mattered.

 

He watched as Granger took the tray to their table, the female Weasley clapping loudly at the sight of her mango rum. Draco watched as she put her arm around Luna Lovegood. His eyes darted to Potter, blissfully unaware of his surroundings. Draco turned to look at Finnigan and Thomas, holding hands. He didn’t know why he was surprised.

 

His glance moved on to Fab, who was cleaning up in the kitchen between nacho orders. He thought back to when he met Fab and Sally’s friends for the first time. They were a lively bunch, and most of them had coloured hair and tattoos and piercings. Halfway through that night, Draco plucked up the courage to ask Sally, “Are all your friends gay?”

 

“No,” she replied, “Jason’s bi, Ariana is pan, hmm, let’s see, Al is nonbinary.”

 

“You know exactly what I mean.” He couldn’t help but smile. Of course, he never hung out with them again. It was just too hard to hide his wizarding history from them, especially since Felicia was a self-proclaimed pagan witch. He’d watch as she pretended to brew potions and study astrology until it was too much, and he’d leave the room guffawing. Fab would always grow angry and call him mean and a “bully.” He already knew that.

 

Draco jumped at the loud noise from the counter behind him. He spun around quickly. Potter was standing behind the counter, laughing. He slammed his hands on the counter again and announced, “Everyone! Oi, everyone! Watch what I’m about to do.” He then turned back to Draco and asked, “Mate, can I have three shots?”

 

Draco simply blinked at him in confusion. Did he just call Draco “mate”? Was Draco even technically _allowed_ to sell alcohol to someone this inebriated?

 

“What kind?” he eventually asked.

 

“Surprise me!” Potter replied. He slammed some money down on the counter. “Keep the tip!” He seemed to not know he was yelling.

 

Everyone in the bar was watching them now. That is, Potter’s group and a few other small, stray groups. Some people were laughing at him.

 

Draco poured three fireballs, careful not to spill anything since Potter was watching the entire time. He set the shots down in front of the dark-haired man. Potter looked around, gave the Weasel and Longbottom thumbs up, licked his lips in anticipation, and downed all three shots.

 

Potter almost immediately hunched over and vomited on the floor. The Weasel laughed. Longbottom got over and rushed to Potter’s side.

 

“So much for ‘slowing down,’” Draco muttered. He heard Longbottom snicker.

* * *

 

Draco had finished re-mopping the floor thirty minutes after the pub had officially closed. Potter and friends left shortly after midnight, Thomas and Longbottom dragging him out. Draco had held his breath until he could no longer see their heads in the parking lot. That didn’t matter now, he thought. He was going to keep his head down, get his degree, and get a nice little muggle job.

 

He sent Xavier home so that he and Fab could clean the fryer. It was a more dangerous and complicated job, and Draco wasn’t about to confuse the bloke. Besides, he’d already made him clean up Potter’s puke. He drained the fryer in silence, waiting for Fab to put on her heat-protectant gloves. She came back to where he was sitting and kneeled down next to him.

 

“So,” she began, a tinge of humor and curiosity in her voice, “Who was that?”

 

“When?” Draco asked. He was genuinely confused. Even if she were referencing the group of wizards, who did she mean?

 

She playfully nudged his arm. A smile played at her lips. “The short black guy! The one that said, ‘watch this’ and then fucking vomited everywhere?”

 

“Oh,” Draco replied, “He, uh, I went to school with him. We didn’t really get along well, so I was surprised to see him.”

 

“Was he a _boyfriend_?” Her smile grew into a grin. Sally and Fab were always trying to get Draco’s “secret dating life” out of him. They never believed that he hadn’t even kissed anyone.

 

“ _What?!_ No! _God_ , no.”

 

“Someone’s a little defensive,” she pointed out.

 

Draco rose and dusted off his pants. “I did _not_ date him.” Fab stood up as well, but now she was smirking. Draco put his hands up in disbelief. “I didn’t! I, I wouldn’t!”

 

“It’s okay! You can tell me.” She was laughing now. Draco hated it when people laughed at him. “Aw, look at you. You’re blushing!” She grabbed Draco’s cheek with her thumb and index finger. He swatted her hand away, careful not to hurt her.

 

Her grabbed her face, forced eye contact between them, and said, “I did not date him. I never dated him. He was never my boyfriend. _Ever_.” He let go of her face and brushed his hands through his hair. He felt his face. It was definitely red.

 

“But you liked him,” Fab added. Draco sneered at her. She giggled and ran away.

 

“Help me clean this, Fab!” he yelled after her.

 

* * *

 

Draco arrived to his SALC class about ten minutes before it was supposed to begin. He, and a handful of other students, obvious over-achievers, waited outside the door for the previous class to end. After the doors opened and the previous students left the classroom, Draco watched as the students standing with him chose seats closest to the front. He sat in the back, near the door. He liked the idea of being able to escape if something were to happen. He didn’t know why he still thought like that.

 

He got out his syllabus and pens and waited as more students poured in. Within ten minutes, nearly all of the seats were filled. There were a few seats still empty, of course: some in the middle and a few in the back near him. Draco smiled, happy that he had probably earned a table all to himself. The professor motioned for the people in the back to close the doors. A girl across the aisle from Draco got up to close their respective door, but she paused when another student ran in.

 

Draco swore out loud when he realized that it was Potter. “Really, a whole god damn university, and he _has_ to pick something that leads him here?” he muttered under his breath. He facepalmed when Potter sat down next to him. He cleared his throat, attempting to send a message for Potter to _move_. Potter seemed to understand in that moment, as he stood up almost immediately.

 

Their professor addressed the room, “Hello, class! Please take your seats. We will begin now.” Draco suppressed a groan while Potter sat down. Potter, on the other hand, appeared to have no self-control; he let out a loud groan and slammed his head against the table. He brought his head back up, feigning embarrassment. Many of the people sitting around them turned their heads to look at them. Some even shot Potter dirty looks. Draco was _pissed_. He chose this seat so that he wouldn’t attract any attention. Now his bloody table partner had chosen to do something stupid and merit others’ judgement. Draco sneered at him. Potter rolled his eyes, and Draco felt himself growing red like he did the other night—the night when Potter _whispered_ to him, showed off in front of his friends in front of the entire pub, was then carried out of said pub. Draco was blushing like a bloody idiot.

 

Out of shame, he resolved to keep his eyes on the professor and his syllabus. Anything but Potter. He thought about his back pocket and how, yet again, he’d failed to bring any of his apologetic letters with him. He’d have to remember those from now on.

 

Draco smelled something that resembled sweat and garbage. He wrinkled up his nose and glanced over at Potter, who was spaced out. Draco decided not to say anything. He didn’t want to embarrass him after all the bloke’s mistakes already that day. Draco went back to reading the syllabus and wondered when, exactly, he’d changed so much. He wondered when he stopped caring so much about not embarrassing his peers. Was it after the war, or was it much sooner? When did he let his façade fall?

 

As the class went on, he tried not to notice Potter staring at him from time to time. He tried not to notice Potter observing his muggle clothes. He hoped that Potter wouldn’t notice the bags under his eyes, the lost weight. Then again, it wasn’t as if Potter looked much better. He looked better than he looked that night at the pub: much more sober. Yet, the bags under his eyes were deep, complementing the lack of light in his irises. His clothes looked rather slept-in and dirty, like he rarely did his own laundry. His hair was just as messy as it had always been, the kinks and curls sticking out and into his eyes. His glasses were dirty and smudged. Draco tore his eyes from Potter and looked at the syllabus again.

 

Soon enough, the professor dismissed the class, and Draco practically ran out, eager to escape. He felt his heart beat rise and his breaths quicken. He fought off the panic attack as he moved towards the closest men’s bathroom.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was much longer than I thought it would be, but enjoy!

Harry

TW eating disorder/bulimia/anorexia m, war m, alcoholism m, food

 

            Harry’s first couple class sessions went rather well: he had read every assignment and written every essay required of him. It was now Monday, the 25th of September, and Harry had just finished up his classes for that day. He’d promised to give Andromeda a tour of the university that afternoon. Harry was going to take the floo to their house, then they would all apparate to Harry’s together, as Teddy had some sort of vendetta against using the floo.

 

            Harry smiled to himself as he walked towards his flat. He loved the toddler so much that even his little quirks and tantrums were adorable.

 

            He opened the front door, unlocked, and stepped into the apartment.

 

            “Forgetfulness is going to be the death of me,” he thought aloud. “Gotta lock this damn door.” He put his books down on a table and looked around, assessing the cleanliness of the place. Nothing was truly _dirty_. He’d swept, vacuumed, dusted, and washed the dishes from time to time, executive dysfunction be damned; the only problem was the messiness and clutter. Harry picked up all of his dirty clothes and shoved them into the closet in the lounge. He cleared some things off the sofa and pushed everything out of the way of the fireplace. Grabbing some of the floo powder from the pot on top of the mantle, Harry prepped for his small journey.

 

            He arrived at Andromeda’s only to hear the toddler yelling and screaming. His hair was black and curly, as if he was attempting to mimic his godfather. Harry smiled. If this was how powerful Teddy’s magic was so far, he couldn’t wait to see it when the boy went to Hogwarts.

 

            “Teddy!” Harry yelled, drawing out the last syllable.

 

            “‘Awwy! Yay, yay, yay, yay! I to’d you, maman. _Te dis!_ [I told you! (incorrect grammar used to show Teddy’s linguistic progression)],” Teddy screamed. He was jumping on top of the floor and swinging his arms wildly. He only had one shoe on.

 

            “Teddy,” Andromeda said in an attempt to control the child, “Teddy! _Restez immobile. Changez les cheveux encore donc je peux le brosser, s’il te plait_. [Stay still. Change your hair again so that I can brush it, please.]” Teddy complied but not without a scowl on his face.

 

            “Hard day?” Harry asked.

 

            “Yes, of course,” Andromeda answered. She put Teddy’s second shoe on him and picked him up. “Shall we?”

 

            Harry grabbed Andromeda’s arm, and all three of them apparated to his flat. When they arrived, Harry could see that his flat was much messier than he previously thought. The loosely-covered disapproval plastered Andromeda’s face. Harry didn’t see how she hadn’t gotten used to this yet; after all, she’d raised Tonks.   


            Teddy reached out for Harry. Harry positioned his godson on his shoulders and walked them through his house. They’d visited before, but Harry had since then added some more furniture and décor, including a huge bookcase that took up an entire wall of his den. After they checked out the house, Harry took them on a tour of the immediate Manchester area. They visited some of his favorite shops and a nearby park.

 

.          It had only been an hour or two when the yawning began. Teddy claimed, repeatedly and aggressively, that he wasn’t tired. He was firmly anti-napping; there was just too much to see and explore! Soon after they returned to Harry’s flat, Teddy fell asleep on the sofa.

 

.          “Would you like some tea?” Harry whispered to Andromeda, careful not to awaken the toddler.

 

.          “Oh, don’t do too much, Harry. You’ve already decided to show us much of Manchester and your university. I don’t want you straining yourself,” she replied. She had that “oh, Harry, you’ve had such a hard life you just need to relax also are you okay I’m worried about you” look on her face that so many people had given him after the war’s end. He was fine. He really, truly was fine.

 

.          “Oh, no, I’ve got it,” he reassured her. “Anything for Teddy?”

 

.          Andromeda gave in, “Maybe some watered-down juice for him.”

 

.          Teddy woke up an hour and a half later, giving Harry and Andromeda enough time to talk about what university was like. He talked of his classes, his studies, the buildings, the campus, the food, and the social life. While it was true that Harry had not yet made any friends—he’d formed a study group with a few people for his Islamic Studies class—he had still seen and heard of the parties every weekend. When he saw Andromeda’s frown, he assured her that he was there to focus on studying, not drinking.

 

.          They rushed out the door, eager to see most of the campus before the sun went down. Harry showed them the buildings nearest to his apartment first before making his way to the buildings with his classes in them. They were walking towards Samuel Alexander when Harry’s eyes found Malfoy heading out of the building. He glanced at Harry and seemed content on ignoring the man. He moved his eyes from Harry towards Andromeda and Teddy. He stopped dead in his tracks.

 

.          Andromeda was cooing at Teddy when she spotted Malfoy. She immediately recognized him. “Draco?” she wondered aloud.

 

.          “Oh, yeah. He, um, he goes to school here too,” Harry affirmed, but his voice seemed to be lost in the wind. Andromeda kept her eyes on the lanky blond man.

 

.          “Draco?” she yelled. She walked towards him, Harry and Teddy following her. “Why, I, I haven’t seen you since you were a baby! Do you remember me? It’s me: your aunt Andy. Andromeda, that is. Do you remember? I’m your mother’s sister. I, she, I couldn’t see you. I wasn’t permitted to see you after you turned one. How are you? How have you been? Are you okay? Do you remember me?”

 

.          Malfoy’s mouth fell open as he pondered how to reply. Harry cringed a bit. Andromeda kept repeating herself. Teddy whined for Harry to pick him up; he didn’t seem to like this stranger. Finally, Malfoy straightened his back and looked Andromeda in the eyes.

 

.          “Hello,” he said. It didn’t seem that he was going to offer more.

 

.          “I wanted to contact you,” Andromeda admitted, “after the war. I wasn’t…certain…if the time was right. Are you…? Are things all right? Why are you here?”

 

.          “I’m seeking a master’s degree in history.” Harry saw him clench his fists. His Adam’s Apple bobbed a bit as he swallowed some discomfort. Was Malfoy scared? Why was he scared? “Muggle history,” Malfoy clarified.

 

.          “That’s fantastic!” Andromeda exclaimed. She grinned widely. “Are you busy? Harry was just showing me the school. You might like to join us.”

 

.          “No!” Malfoy responded quickly. “I mean, um, yes. I’m busy. Sorry. I apologize for that. I can’t join you. Have a nice tour.” His face reddened a bit. Harry suddenly became very conscious of Teddy playing with his hair.

 

.          Andromeda’s grin fell a bit. “Oh. Well, could I write you? You must understand that I haven’t heard anything about you for years. Merlin, how old are you now? You must be…” She grew flustered as it became apparent that she’d forgotten.

 

.          “Twenty,” Harry offered. They were the same age, after all.

 

.          “Wow! Twenty. I, um, you…you’re some of the last family I have. My daughter Nymphadora died. Sirius died. Regulus died. You’re, you’re my nephew! I’d like to…you’re one of the last of the Blacks. I’d like to contact you from time to time. Make sure you’re eating and all that.” She was playing with her hands and twiddling her thumbs while she spoke. It was the same thing that she did when she spoke at some of the funerals after the war. It was a nervous habit.

 

.          Malfoy appeared to be doing something similar. He still had his fists clenched, but now he was rubbing his thumb against his index finger. He looked miserable and torn—confused, as though he didn’t know what to do. He bit his lip. “Well, I, um, I suppose. If you’d like. I’m living here…in Manchester. In Moss Side. Which, I suppose that doesn’t matter as owls can find someone no matter their location or knowledge of their location…” he rambled on, looking like he was thinking of something else.

 

.          Teddy struggled in Harry’s arms. Harry almost didn’t hear his whines.

 

.          “Oh! Okay. Well, I will…I will certainly be sure to write you. Oh! By the way, this is Teddy,” Andromeda announced, grabbing the pink-haired toddler from Harry’s arms. “He is my grandson, and Harry’s godson. He is Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin’s child.” Harry saw Malfoy’s face turn white. “That means he’s your second cousin.”

 

.          Malfoy nodded. “Oh.”

 

.          Teddy reached towards Malfoy, attempting to close the gap between the blond and Andromeda. He grabbed a fistful of Malfoy’s hair. Malfoy, who had obviously never been around a child like this before, tensed up. He looked up at the toddler’s fist.

 

.          “I like ‘ur ‘air,” Teddy stated, somehow missing both the “y” and “h” sounds. Harry resolved to help the child with his pronunciation later on.

 

.          Andromeda gasped. “Teddy, let go. Teddy, _maintenant, s’il te plait_. [Now, please.]” Her voice became harsh, warning him that a time-out was to come if he did not obey.

 

.          Teddy tightened his little fist. Malfoy gritted his teeth together and rubbed his thumb against his index finger even quicker. “ _Mais_ , [But,]” the toddler began, “ _Je. Ne. Veux. Paaaaaaaaas_. [I. Don’t. Want. Toooooooo.]”

 

.          “Draco, just, um, just grab his hand and take it off your head,” Andromeda directed. 

 

.          Malfoy reached his right hand up carefully, and he gently pried Teddy’s fingers off of his white-blond hair. Teddy let out a loud whine. Andromeda stepped back from Malfoy so that the toddler wouldn’t get any more ideas of the same sort.

 

.          She apologized, “I am so sorry about that. He…he hasn’t learned boundaries yet.”

 

.          “He likes hair a lot,” Harry admitted, attempting to defuse the situation.

 

.          “He speaks French,” Malfoy stated.

 

.          “Oh, well, yeah. He does. He’s very smart. Can you count to ten for Draco, Teddy?” Andromeda bounced Teddy in her arms. He shook his head and pouted. “Ugh, _pourquoi non?_ [Why not?]”

 

.          “I didn’t think that he…I mean, he’s not a…he’s not actually…” Malfoy bit his tongue, literally. He then sucked in his teeth, as if he were telling himself to shut up.

 

.          “Yes, well, I thought that it was still important to establish bilingualism in him, regardless of his blood status,” Andromeda replied. She smiled warmly at Malfoy.

 

.          “I have to go,” he claimed. “It’s was nice, um….it was nice. Have a nice trip.” He turned to Harry and nodded curtly. “Nice day, Potter.” He turned and walked away from them.

 

.          “Y-you, too,” Harry offered.

 

.          “I’ll write you tonight!” Andromeda yelled after him. She frowned as he got further away. “Oh, dear. Do you think we scared him?”

 

.          “Andromeda,” Harry pointed out, chuckling a bit, “He’s practically running off.” They watched as Malfoy’s pace quickened in an attempt to leave the campus. He almost looked like a wild animal feeling a predator. Harry wondered if that’s how he felt.

 

.          “I do hope he replies to me,” Andromeda admitted.

 

.          “Yeah…” Harry kept watching. He didn’t look away until the white-blond hair disappeared.

 

.          Harry took Andromeda and Teddy out for dinner after they finished the informal tour. Harry turned in early so that he could get some studying in before his classes the next day, but he ended up not being able to concentrate and simply tossed his textbook across the room. 

 

.          He hadn't thought of Malfoy at all since the incident at the university. No, he hadn't thought of Malfoy one bit. He certainly hadn't thought of Malfoy's surprisingly tight pants: muggle skinny jeans that Harry did not think would suit the man. He hadn't thought of his black band t-shirt either, showing off an apparent liking for Green Day. He hadn't thought of his swollen chipmunk-like cheeks or his calloused knuckles or bloodshot eyes. He hadn't thought of the strands of hair falling out when Teddy finally let go. 

 

.          Maybe he'd thought of Malfoy a bit, but it was only because Andromeda brought it up at dinner. 

 

.          "I do hope he's doing okay," she said somberly. Harry could see her adding to the frown lines that were already etched into her face. "I hope he's eating enough. Does he seem okay when you see him on campus?"

 

_.          Well,_ he thought _, he_ was _a part of the war, and he_ did _play a part in the worst side of the war, so I doubt he's doing any better than anyone else involved._ Harry cleared his threat and replied, "He seems okay. He pays attention in class. He's kinda quiet. That's it."

 

.          "You have classes with him?"

 

.          "Just one. We sit next to each other."

 

.          "Oh, how delightful! Do you talk any?" She perked up a bit.

 

.          "Errr...no. We sort of just ignore each other."

 

.          Andromeda nodded and dropped the subject. Harry felt a tinge of guilt.

 

* * *

 

.          Harry journeyed to his SALC class after a surprisingly good night of sleep. He arrived a bit early and was even seated before Malfoy walked in.

 

.          The air immediately gave off a sharp, putrid smell. Malfoy and his clothes emitted a mixture of cheap vodka, beer, and cigarettes. He stumbled a bit as he walked to his seat.

 

.          Harry waited until Malfoy had made himself completely comfortable in his respective seat before he leaned in, his hair nearly touching Malfoy’s pointy face.

 

.          "Are you drunk?" Harry asked.

 

.          Malfoy turned his head to make their eyes meet. He was so close that Harry could make out every little vessel in his eye. Malfoy spoke, "Are you daft? I _hate_ you. Why are you talking to me?"

 

.          "Am I _daft_?" Harry scoffed. "You're such a git."

 

.          "Ooooh, are you using your big boy words now, Potter?" Malfoy replied. He sneered at him. 

 

.          Harry rolled his eyes and finally moved his head back.

 

.          When class was dismissed, Malfoy got up as quickly as he usually did; however, this time he lost his balance and nearly fell over. Out of instinct, Harry extended his arms out. Malfoy swatted them away and glared at Harry. Harry rolled his eyes again and strode to his flat so that he could take the floo to Andromeda’s. He didn't watch as Malfoy left.

 

.          Andromeda had already prepared dinner when Harry arrived. Harry set the table for her as she woke Teddy up from his nap. The boy came sprinting into the dining room when he’d realized that his godfather was there.

 

.          After calming Teddy down, they sat at the table and fixed their plates. It wasn’t until about twenty minutes later that Andromeda brought up the subject they seemed to both be avoiding: Draco Malfoy.

 

.          She swallowed a bite of her Caesar salad, took a sip of her water, and patted her mouth with a napkin. She stated, “I wrote Draco yesterday. It wasn’t too long of a letter—only twenty-three inches.”

 

.          “Has he replied?” Harry asked. He felt that he already knew the answer.

 

.          Andromeda looked down in disappointment. “No,” she admitted. “He’s probably just busy. Didn’t you say that that class you share is rather difficult?”

 

.          “A bit, but…” Harry sighed. “He’s a massive arsehole, Andromeda.”

 

.          “Wha’s a arse’ole?” Teddy asked. Harry laughed when he saw the Caesar dressing in the toddler’s hair.

 

.          “A bad word that we do not use, Teddy,” Andromeda replied. She groaned at his hair. “Harry,” she addressed him, “What do you mean? Why would you say that?”

 

.          “Well, on top of the fact that he was an enormous bully and a _Death Eater_ , he’s just a rude git. For starters, he showed up to class _drunk_ today!” Harry replied. When he realized that he was moving his arms frantically with his fork still in hand, he put them down in his lap. Hermione always told him that he was overdramatic and had a knack for emoting stories.

 

.          Andromeda frowned. She had been doing a lot of that recently. “Harry…” she almost whispered. “Look, I know that the Malfoys and Blacks aren’t exactly perfect people.” He looked at her in disbelief. Was she really defending them now? Her own family that disowned her? She continued, “Don’t, don’t! Just hear me out, okay? Narcissa and Lucius are, or were, both…” she sighed, uncertain about her words. “They’re both alcoholics. They have always used alcohol to cope with things, and I’m sure that that’s all Draco learned. You have to give him a break. I’m sure that if Regulus had been given a chance…things would have been…different…”

 

.          “He changed, you know,” Harry rushed. “Regulus. He changed. When I was trying to locate the horcruxes to defeat Voldemort, I found out that Regulus destroyed the first one. He switched sides and sacrificed himself.”

 

.          Andromeda nodded. She blinked the tears out of her eyes. “Just, cut Draco a break, okay? I _have_ to believe that there’s something in everyone that can still be saved. I can’t give up on the last of my family. Even if Narcissa won’t speak to me, I can still have my nephew.”

 

.          It was Harry’s turn to nod. He took his fork out of his lap and laid it on his plate. “Just…” he replied, “Don’t expect a reply from him. He can be very mean and cruel. Even if he’s not… _evil_ …he still hasn’t been a good person in the past.”

 

.          Andromeda didn’t say anything; she just confiscated the now empty bowl of salad from Teddy’s head. It seemed that he decided it, and all of its contents, would make a perfect hat. She picked him up from the high chair and pointed out the window to the owl coming closer. “That’s the post; it’s been coming in late recently. Would you grab it while I bathe Teddy? I’m expecting a coupon for Madam Malkin’s.” She took Teddy to the upstairs bathroom.

 

.          Harry opened the window to let the owl in and got out the owl’s water bowl. He took the envelopes off its leg, and he read them aloud, “Bill. Bill. Bill Weasley. Madam Malkin’s. Witch Weekly. Junk. Draco Malfoy. Junk.” He threw them onto the kitchen table, but he nearly walked away before he realized what he just read. Harry went back to the table and picked up Draco Malfoy’s letter.

 

.          He yelled, “Andromeda! I was wrong. He wrote you back.”

 

.          “Bring it to me!” She called back. “I have Teddy in the tub and can’t leave!”

 

.          Harry climbed the stairs quickly, skipping every other step. Once he got inside the bathroom, he handed Andromeda the unopened envelope. She dried her hands and opened it in a rush. Her hands were shaking slightly from nerves. Harry watched Teddy.

 

.          “Ahem,” she cleared her throat, “’Dear Andromeda,’ it reads, ‘I am terribly sorry that this letter has come late. I have been busy with my studies and with work in the past day; thus, I have not been able to dedicate the appropriate amount of time to replying to you. Thank you for reaching out to me. I also apologize for my behavior at the university. I was running slightly late for work, and I had to get there as quickly as possible. I would, in fact, enjoy possibly meeting you at some point. The specifics of that meeting shall be up to you. Lastly, you will find a second, smaller enclosed letter in this envelope as well. Thank you. Yours truly, Draco Malfoy.’” Andromeda paused and took a breath.

 

.          “Well,” she said, “That was rather fluffy.” She pulled the second envelope out, entitled “Harry Potter,” and handed it to him. “Here you are.” She grinned smugly, as if she were saying “I told you so.”

 

.          Harry took the letter out of her hands carefully, afraid he might rip it. Why had Malfoy written _him_? He put the letter in his back pocket. “I think I’m going to read this later,” he informed Andromeda. “Right now, I’m going to clean the kitchen and then go to my flat, okay?”

 

.          “Sounds good,” she replied. She looked genuinely happy. “If I were to see Draco over dinner or something, would you like to be there?” She looked at Harry expectantly.

 

.          “Of course,” he replied. As he walked down the stairs, he mentally reprimanded himself. How the bloody hell was he supposed to sit through an entire dinner with Andromeda, Teddy, and Malfoy?


	17. Chapter 17

Draco

TW ableist slurs, alcoholism/alcohol, eating disorders/bulimia/purging, emetophobia/puking m, panic attacks, animals/cats, mothers/parents m

.          Draco peered up at the small, pink-haired child with his sticky fingers painfully grasping the blond hairs. Draco _hated_ kids. He absolutely loathed them. They had no sense of boundaries, no sense of morality, and no sense of common decency. This, purposefully rubbing one’s filthy hand through another person’s hair, was just one example. Another one was the toddler’s never ending whining while the three adults talked. Or, Draco thought, while he and Andromeda Tonks talked and Potter stuttered out a comment or two.

 

.          “Draco,” Andromeda spoke. She said his name again like if she ever stopped using it he would disappear forever, and she’d never find him again. He hoped that that would happen. No. No, of course it wouldn’t. Even when he _did_ try to disappear forever by moving to a muggle city hours away from London and Hogwarts and Etretat, people kept finding him. She continued, “just, um, just grab his hand and take it off your head.”

 

.          Draco thought back to Andromeda addressing this child in French. This little, half-blood, werewolf child with pink-hair. The child who responded in both French and English. Draco unclenched his right fist and slowly moved his hand upwards, as if the child was an animal that might strike if he moved too quickly. Andromeda was very close to Draco. He could make out her frown lines, only highlighted by the dumb, goofy grin that accompanied her face. Had anyone ever been this happy to see him in his entire life?

 

.          He looked back at Potter. The man seemed to be attempting to feign an indifference to this train-wreck, but he was failing miserably: his face was shaped with amusement and slight worry. Did he think that Draco would _hurt_ the child?

 

.          Draco continued moving his hand closer to the toddler’s. He took his index and middle finger and gradually picked up each of the toddler’s fingers. Draco fought the urge to close his eyes as some of his hair fell out—white-blond strands falling like feathers. They were so transparent that they almost looked rainbow in the sunlight. The lights of his hairs contrasted with the dark black of his shirt and jacket. He thought back to how he cancelled the hair appointment with Fab. Maybe he should make another one, but he wasn’t sure that his hair was strong enough. He almost jerked back when the child loudly whined.

 

.          Andromeda held the child tighter. Did _she_ think that he would hurt it? He looked at her expectantly. She apologized, “I am so sorry about that. He…he hasn’t learned boundaries yet.”

 

.          “He likes hair a lot,” Potter stated. He stood hunched over a bit, but Draco could see that the man had gotten much taller in the past year or two. They were now close to the same height, probably. Once upon a time, Potter had stood nearly half a foot shorter than Draco, abnormally short compared to Draco’s 5’8. He had also gotten much more fit since the war. _Athletically_ , Draco elaborated to himself, _not…not the other kind._ Draco filed the thought away and observed Potter’s face. He looked much happier than he did that night in the pub, strangely. The bags under his eyes were gone.  

 

.          Draco decided that he’d stared for far too long, even though it was probably only a few seconds. Time was strange in that way.

 

.          Draco felt awkward in the silence. He grabbed a random thought out of his brain. Finally, he spoke, “He speaks French.” He meant to just state it; however, it may have sounded more like a question.

 

.          “Oh, well, yeah. He does. He’s very smart. Can you count to ten for Draco, Teddy?” Andromeda bounced the child, _Teddy,_ in her arms. He shook his head and pouted. Draco wanted to roll his eyes. Why couldn’t children behave? After all, _he_ did. Then again, he wasn’t sure that he counted. Andromeda faked a pout, “Ugh, _pourquoi non?_ [Why not?]”

 

.          Draco became a bit more confused. The Blacks taught their children French because they wanted to preserve their heritage…their _culture._ This child was a werewolf, and even if he wasn’t, he was a half-blood. Draco felt offensive. After a damned war about blood politics, did he really just insult this child’s language ability in relation to his blood status? Draco felt so stupid. He attempted to clarify but only found himself stuttering, “I didn’t think that he…I mean, he’s not a…he’s not actually…” He bit down on his tongue, tasting blood. His mental gaze went to his wrist. His teeth let go of his tongue.

 

.          “Yes, well, I thought that it was still important to establish bilingualism in him, regardless of his blood status,” Andromeda replied. She smiled warmly at Draco. He was so fucking stupid.

 

.          All he wanted was a shot of something. All he wanted was a shot…or… _something_. He had to get home. “I have to go,” he lied. “It’s was nice, um…” Draco wasn’t sure what he was saying. “….it was nice. Have a nice trip.” He decided to try and be polite; he turned to Potter and nodded curtly. “Nice day, Potter.” He turned and walked away from them.

 

.          “Y-you, too,” he heard Potter stutter as he walked away.

 

.          He tried his best not to run off the campus, but once he got out of their line of sight—and he made bloody _sure_ of that—he sprinted to his apartment. He ran up the stairs so quickly that his footsteps made loud bangs. Gonzalo was out by his front door when Draco got to their floor. His disapproving scowl let Draco know that he was about to be yelled out.

 

.          Draco stepped towards him and snarled, “ _No tengo la hora para oírte. Lo siento. Vete a la mierda_. [I don’t have the time (wrong word used to show lack of Spanish skills) to listen to you (informal use of “you;” meant to disrespect). Sorry. Go to hell/go fuck yourself.]”

 

.          Draco unlocked his door as Gonzalo sputtered. He slammed the door shut when he got in. It was only then that he let himself fall apart.

 

.          He fell to his knees and choked out a few tearless sobs. Halloween, his black cat that was missing one eye, walked over to him carefully and slowly. He sniffed his owner and attempted to curl up in his lap. Draco nudged him away and crawled to his room. He picked Cauliflower up and put him out into the living room. He closed the door.

 

.          That’s when the crying began. His entire body shook as the violent sobs rippled through his body. He clenched his teeth and started rubbing his hands on the thighs of his pants. He felt his chest grow tighter as his breaths got deeper and quicker. He lay down on the floor, feeling sorry for himself. Draco willed himself into dissociation, “Come on. Come on. Come on, Draco. Get up. Get over it. Just... _Lève-toi, et_ …and… _et cesse les pleurs, putain._ [Get up…and...[…]…and stop crying, fuck.]”

           

            He pulled the sleeves of his hoodie down to wipe the remaining tears of his eyes. He cast a quick spell to take away the redness left from the panic attack. He got up quickly—maybe a bit too quickly, as he grew nauseous as soon as he stood—and opened the door. Halloween and Cauliflower ran to him. They had been waiting by the door, and now they stood by his feet—their eyes looking up at his expectantly. The cats wanted cuddles. How could a being possibly love Draco this much? After all he’d done, couldn’t they sense an evil in people?

 

            Draco made kissy noises at them and walked out the front door. He shut it quickly, assuring that they wouldn’t attempt to follow him out. In shame, Draco walked to the nearest store that would sell him two liters of Smirnoff with minimal questions asked.

 

            After walking less than one kilometer, Draco found a place. He bought two six-packs of beer and a 1.75-liter bottle of Smirnoff. The cashier didn’t even ask him how his day was going; in fact, the man didn’t say anything except Draco’s total for the transaction. Draco found it glorious.

 

            He paced home, satisfied to discover that Gonzalo had locked himself inside his apartment. Once Draco got inside his own apartment, he shut and locked the door. He deadbolted it, just to be sure. He placed the alcohol on top of his coffee table and went to his kitchen. It took him five minutes to devour all the cereal he had to his name. He didn’t waste any time in purging it. After his stomach was settled, he walked back to the living room and sat on the sofa. His cats were asleep; this wasn’t anything new to them.

 

            Draco knew that he shouldn’t have done it. He really knew that. But how could he not? After all he’d been through that day, why shouldn’t he write his own mother back?

 

            He didn’t read all of her letters, of course. He only read the one that came that day. She was angry at him, but, most importantly, she was “concerned.” Draco hated it when she pulled that card. Everything she’d done had apparently been for the Malfoys and Blacks, for the family, for _him._

 

            He got out some of his writing parchment, a quill, and some ink. Draco wrote back,

                        _Mother,_

_Your concern is misplaced. Why would I not be doing all right? It’s not as if I have been drowning in booze and drugs these past two years in order to escape horrific memories of childhood and adolescent trauma. Why, if I had been, I’d almost be tempted to blame_ you _for those. Yet, that has obviously not been the case._

 

            Draco stopped writing for a moment. He wondered if he had written the letter with enough irony and dark humor. After all, his mother had known about his habits for a few years.  He continued,

 

_Life has been grand with you and Father out of the picture. I have a steady career. One could say that it_ is _similar to Potions Making. I attend university. I have friends. I’ve even been talking to your dear sister. Not the dead one, but of course you wouldn’t have forgotten that. No, I’ve been talking to Andromeda. You know, Mother, the aunt that you told me had been killed years ago? How long did you think I would believe your bullshit? You didn’t think another Death Eater would have told me, or that I couldn’t have figured it out after the war? Merlin, you probably assumed I would have died during the war. You probably would have wanted that, right? You’d still have the same chance of getting an heir…_

 

            Draco paused in his writing. Was he being too mean? He took another shot of Smirnoff and decided that he didn’t care.

 

            _Your sister is fine. She looks as if she hasn’t smiled in twenty years, but who could when their family disowns them? I’m doing fine. Especially without you._

 

_Sincerely,_

_Draco_

 

            He sealed up the parchment. Then, he got out another sheet. If he was going to taunt his mother with his and his aunt’s relationship, he might as well respond to his aunt. He took another shot.

 


End file.
